A tree cut down is a
a child chopped...
The edge of the world is close to my house
I go there on walks quite often...
The autumn sun touched the
nape of my neck, today...
I always have you in my mind
not once will they turn blind...
Sunlight pours through closed blinds
Casting a row of light beads on my pillow...
My typewriter is my instrument.
Hear me banging furiously...
Golden are the flecks in the iris of your eyes
A deep forest green lit with beautiful fireflies...
you take in
one big breath...
For the nurses they are old lesions
but for the patients...
Ticking seconds ticking fast
Leaves comfortable sameness in The Past...
I let the rain massage my shoulders,
untying the knots in my back...
Whenever she bakes, I'm reminded of
home...