Planted without dirt, The life of memory In turn rebirth Was enriched by elements, Of braver energy Made earth.
Archive for ‘Art’
Feed the Narrative.
Ferocious how The suspicion fell, Spiders all spinning And eating Their fill, Not knowing Who was victim, Or kill.
Authoritarian in July.
Choice is both, Ours alone And, For other’s To Atone.
Another Hand for Nice.
For in Liberty There will always be, Another hand To pick it up.
One Word, Two Sentences.
For decisions Of the intertwine, On certainty reverse. The majesty of mercury, Is opportune And curse.
My Grey Tree.
There are days I am Like that Tree, The one that gestures At the edges Of my grey, And reminds […]
For a New Prescription.
Finally, there is understanding, Of where it is And who we are in this standing, And in another then And […]
Stronger Hands.
As weakness feels sure, The strength drenched In trenches, Is of angles And of Greeting anger As a lure.
Not Another Shirt Bloodied.
When we answer Pain with more, Then what We live with Is not for healing, But for War.
“Who you?”
I looked at, Myself And said, “I am better Than this.” And This Looked back, And said “Who you?”
themischiefmemoirs 