Watching in amazement, their eyes filled with glee, spending all their money, as if it fell from a tree.
Feeling so happy, they push and become so rude, how can you pretend to be dignified, with manners so crude?
How can she live without that Prada purse, their lust for luxury, borders on the perverse.
Happy with their new bought joy, leaving in a hastened pace, walking past a homeless man, ignoring the sorrow on his face.
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Started writing poetry officially in 1991, enjoy reading Edgar Allen Poe, reading and dissecting the Holy Bible, and listening to beautiful/inspiring people. Age has no bearing on creativity. Some of the most beautiful things come from those of much lesser age and life experiences. So listen to those young people!
I'm searching for an answer To the simple question why And all I see are bruises That you have laid upon my eye.
Carrier Yasmin Time :16:21 Contact Name (38 characters remaining) Message 1 Type Message 2 Type Message 3 Type Message 4 Type.
My dad is mad, really really bad, his face is sad, he likes rad.
You’d never know her secret She hides it with a smile Demons invade her head They have for quite a while.
Another year gone, passed away, And so here I am, upon this day: Older, not wiser, still dreaming, Beads of worry constant gleaming, Though making it work, somehow, With all the nothing I'm endowed.
Spring is here. Spring is there. Spring is everywhere. In the spring. I feel a sting. From a bee. That I always see. So if you feel a sting. In the spring. From a bee. That you always see.
My misery can not be easily explained, my life partner gone, unbearable sorrow has left me stained.
Another day alone Another day by myself Another of looking At your picture on a shelf. Another day of tears Another day of questions Another day of hoping That I have learned my lesson.
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