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Come, taste the world with me Time wears bright call For plain value Chasing down seconds for centuries Night and day New and old
Calls countries make Are made by their people Calls countries receive Are received by the people Yearning for a country transfixed or transformed
Preface: I am a 6’5” homosexual cis white man Which is to say I am privileged Which is also to say I kinda get it. Poem: I am sitting on my bed I do that a lot lately
The telephone rings: I answer, Hello! The voice on the telephone says, “Hi, it’s Kristine.” “Did I wake you?” No, I wasn’t sleeping. “How are you?” I’m fine.
You are simply divine! Just look at how your hair, in the sun, shines! That makeup has not even a single stray line! I bet you're compatible with everyone's sign!
The boundless days The sun beats down The silky waves Is the sweetest sound The creeping wind The green palm fronds The effortless sway Is the sweetest sound
Hey it's me, your son. You see Mom, Jesus. I'm sorry Mom. Oh God, I didn't mean to do this mom. I've got time for this last call, and it went straight to voicemail.
Gentle gale, why art thou blowing,For do you know it is scarcely eight in the morning?Instead of focusing on numbers and words,Thou hast tempted me to soar among birds,Free in the sky, without a care in the world,
He read it at 9:30 PM. It's currently 9:42 PM and he hasn't even began to type. Read 9:30 PM. Read 9:30 PM. Read 9:30 PM. It replays in my head over and over.
Call it beauty Call it beauty when the stars blanket the night sky When the birds sweeten the morning air When the rain rejuvenates the fresh soil When waterfalls look like falling pristine sugar
Every answer is a lie, Every night it all unfolds. Only when I'd rather die Is when the truth is told. Every answer is one I hide, It scares me more than you know Because when I search,
From the hills that are Beverly Whatever that means To the sign
Like a siren's voice the bottle calls to him. Whispering sweet nothings in his ear he turns his back on the world.
Leafs leave in the winter and return in the spring. Like how the elderly pass and babies are born. we laugh, live, and learn. boys and girls play, clothes are torn. Then we feel a lovers burn
The Siren calls us every morn,
I am searching for my place in this world of open space. Through the barriers and walls it is hard to see our calls. No funding for tution but a degree is needed with ambition to break down that block
Lord I hope it’s not too late For me to wake up And follow my fate You’ve told me so many times To wake up from the dead I can’t help but sleep sometimes the laziness I must shed