Poems from GibGatz
They always tell you not to cry over spilled milk,
for better fortunes will follow,
and all will be okay.
But sometimes, when the cup is...
What a beautiful color, red, she said
And smashed it down with her hand
Orange is pleasant as well, I can tell!
And crushed it according...
It sure is something when one is killed, blindsided -
he simply does not see it coming.
It is then something else when one can see it...
Art is the millisecond one awakes from a coma,
A new perception of the mundaneThe steady heartbeat gone suddenly erratic,the formerly...
They loved on a deathbed.
Rather,their love was that of a deathbed love.
The chills were reciprocated,the energies mirrored,one heart...