Poetry is a consumming fire
The only way to deal with it is to write
Poetry is a consumming fire
It burns in my heart and soul
Pouring out my emotional turmoil
To write them down upon the page
Space cat
there was a little cat of the furry sort and he used to dream he was an astronaut climbing in his rocket heading to the stars landing down...
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The evils of this World hold you by a leash to Stay in controll
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They were fools to interrupt this day My day Where I was to be wed to the man I love Did they not think I would be armed Did they not thin... -
Sons of night Wicked deeds Doomed they are
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