"I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean." - Socrates |
Claire, the fair, red ribbons in your hair
So eloquently furnishing your clever stare...
Her eyes changed their color just now,
As she looked down from her balcony...
Here comes the train, everybody's on it,
All the kings who died are in the front seat and...
Empty minds in the mist of chaos,
Your promises are all unkempt...
In the morning when you sleep and I'm awake,
I remember what you said to me during your break...
You may be the only one like that
With your hair that parts...
Fears led to tears, my dear,
But when you were near...
If you don’t love me, then what is real?
If your touch isnt love, then what’s the deal...
Lips like red roses
Melt my soul to ashes...
Birds sing a tune
Early this morning...