poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
They say God is in the Trees,That I will find him in prostration,Head down, I will find himOn my knees, wailing, screamingThat he’s in every branch of the tree,from the stem to the leaves that reach out to the SunThat He is in Control of all that is land,of all that is Myth, Oh Dear […]
the sunset is setting,hand stretched out,not enough to grab it tho,like quick sand,my time is running out