The girl was a bone,
a stick held
upright
by the fierce, unyielding passion
of her mind
alone.
She smiled
and she was beautiful,
so beautiful
I could cry
for joy
and shout to the hills;
but when I closed her book,
she was dead.













Comments
And look at you, writing without any real form!
--
"the way to create art is to burn and destroy
ordinary concepts and to substitute them
with new truths that run down from the top of the head
and out from the heart"
- C. Bukowski
--
-- We're geek! We're l337! Get used to it! --
Geek pride; copy this into your signature and spread the word!
"The human capacity of suffering is what we should cause to be respected, not the mere capacity of existing." - John Stuart M
--
-- We're geek! We're l337! Get used to it! --
Geek pride; copy this into your signature and spread the word!
"The human capacity of suffering is what we should cause to be respected, not the mere capacity of existing." - John Stuart M
--
Bananaphone,
Riiiiiinnng Riiiiing Riiiiiiing
--
One mile is just as far as one thousand if you can't bridge that distance.
--
I'm a pertyful person!
I'm open to poem requests......
Check out Mah Gallery its Fahhhbulous!
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