A World Away
Another night scratching my head as I reach for a pencil. Another night spent torturing words in the mind’s muddied trenches, proving that yes you can press money from guile and oil from stone – If you’d just continue squeezing please . . . …
Who would feed the Orphans?
My heart is a pancake, Shared by the poor and homeless And there is a poetic spot, That belongs to the orphans Who are covered with my blood, Seeking for a home, All these ages I wonder, Who are those Orphans? Then I found the…
I Hate You
I hate you so much that I don’t hate you, Sometimes I try to define your beauty. I watch as the wind hits your nose, The reflection of the sun in your eyes, The way the night sky steals from your beauty, The way your…
