28 kwietnia 2014
CARE
The noise of a crescent
climbs wordlessly.
In the night of dew and wind, for
its native starless beams-
holding the thread of a thought, walking
through wall of disbelief. Before and after
the murder of a spark; the heart misses
a beat. Cold sweat rustling on forehead;
you bend to pick up a coin,
a fake one. Possibility of becoming rich fades soon.
You want to say nothing. Troy, Michigan, USA
Satish Verma
10 marca 2026
wiesiek
9 marca 2026
sam53
8 marca 2026
violetta
8 marca 2026
ais
7 marca 2026
jeśli tylko
7 marca 2026
violetta
7 marca 2026
dobrosław77
6 marca 2026
sam53
6 marca 2026
sam53
5 marca 2026
Kreton