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FreedomI daydream about parmesan skies sipping iced tea and strange butterflies persimmon sweetness as cinnamon rise upon the mid meadows upon the hills sitting atop I replay a song so constant in my head as God turns His windmill westside and I feel His soul warming me insideFreedom
a village a town a kingdom here and yet no gates nor walls hold it still no guard nor spear to question a trespasser aye a golden haven lays right here where corn fed ears
sprout and snail like hours not interfere with my daydreaming of robin birds singing
a Kin
by ~lesbian-harlequin
A driftwood Essayforever and flawless those un-plucked flowers pressed in poetry volumes and the ocean.A driftwood Essay
oddities of memories as river stones, well rounded in their patient education; as punctuated coffee stains,
those discarded sutras by accidental monks, who learned calligraphy from the rain.
what clever lines the cipruss roots, embroidered with lichen ‘nd worm trails. how fertile those monks are now,
as love is recorded diligently, in chronicles of a child stomping in the rain.
by ~BlueHalios
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*im not worthy im not worthy*
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A charm In Tryst I Trust
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Medically speaking, you're Adorable
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Thankyou so much
xxx
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<caveatLECTOR>and jon beat me to uranus LOLOLOL
<concrete-surfer> your mom depreciates in value as she's traded
<intangebility> o man. pink is singing sweet dreams on tv atm, and madeline says "string trees are made of peas?"
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I don't wish to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone.
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