God
I’m rainbow at a child’s funeral that mothers see.
My fingers are on Mark Chapman’s hand.
I’m ice: tequila, Titanic comes towards me.
I’m love, madness, Holocaust, everything on this land.
Prayer says the miner, the depths, the phantom,
Superstars kneel down, kings, superspies.
I’m the World Trade Center, glass, steel’s my kingdom.
I’m Allah, who towards me tenderly flies.
« X calca peste cadavre. Dar numai peste acelea care nu-si fac treaba. » Si caracterizarea uynui om ar trebui sa fie ca o poezie buna.Cu subintelesuri, cu secrete, nimic clar . Sufletul uman ca poezie. Teroristul din mine….
Modestia. Sa fie prima tema de meditatie.
Wireless network detected. Sentimentul de a fi inteles, iubit, apreciat. Wireless [...]
If you enjoyed the post, make sure you subscribe to the RSS feed.
© 2009 TypeBased. All Rights Reserved.
Powered by WordPress. Design by 
Recent Comments