Poems from mocsktr
Childish are the thoughts of the white man
as he runs around is playground called Earth.
Free he feels; and full of life
as he spreads his...
If Music--be the Food
Of Love--Play on
Through streams of Oil--
And mend the crude
Thoughts of Man.
Sing the Song--of Lark
And Loon;
A...
Over the past few days I’ve seen
That everything doesn’t always stay the same.
That the one thing that nothing could ever come between
Is...