czwartek, 10 maja 2012

writing is hard.

I would love to be one of those persons who are able to write their dairy everyday for years.
Obviously I am not but I want to work on it- I know that memories that are in my hand won't last forever- especially that I forget most of things very quickly.

He draws near the periphery
In disbelief on delivery
Came child from the deep inferno
Crusty head of dead volcano
Heartless crow with brittle beak
Wooden leg too schocked to speak
Lilac dust of a woman's hair
A wooden cross a paper prayer
A stone where her body lay
A stack of feathers a pile of hay
A mushroom for an eye ball
A mustache from the snow fall
Worms weave a ring where fairies square dance
Queens and kings fairies weave wigs with eyelash
Trance music makes the fairies dance

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