Am a wailer. A handful of times we saw it signs. Was it the sun that would shine for all. Exodus of this tears that falls fast,or the plaintiff of dreams we deer but never crosses this path,dear. the wailer of my yard i am,ironed with the feast of ashes or denied with the golden spoon. Drifters that swings it clouds just around the plough of drought,even before the morning moisture softens my heart. Juvenile on the face of nature,with it lashes that grave my skin. Guitar that string,but so cold this voice i sing,a fading day in the eve of storms. Crown of scars,and the scarcity so common in the peace sown but never grew,i had no feet to stand but crawl. Militant in faith a leaf that falls or to climb in vain the mountain soo tall, the mornings of divine perfection ending with human destruction of course. Light that seek from nowhere my folk,the triangle that seemed paired in oat.a motion better off than no motion. On this canvas i stain my in floating fluid a pond which ponds wide the gate of my mortality, or reclaim my strength of fidelity. Tears that falls fast in any happy falls of liberation,or the dew doubted on the sole of this generation. Veracity governs this heart a handful off time.Am a wailer of this country. M umaru.
Posted on: Sun, 22 Sep 2013 20:01:58 +0000
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