Car j'ai vécu de vous attendre,Et mon coeur n'était que vos pas.

I'd rather write poetry than watch TV it allows me to share the wide screen in me.

How many unuttered words died in the heads of those for whom a word was too expensive.

If Erik existed and lived life in despair,We wish him to know we are here and we care.

someday i will walk under the soul-blossom tree with my hand eternally woven in yours.

For every moment of suffering,Others will arriveThat will instead pierce you with joy.

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

He loved me like thick molasses on a summer's day. Pure, sweet, sticky, warm, dark.

poetry. i am not writing it.(make way for me please)it is my skin. dripping with light.

To truly understand poetry one must understand themselves from within one’s self.

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

Whenever life is getting tough hold on.Don't let it get the best of you stay strong.

He offered his love ... she could not bother,She gives her love to the other! The other!

Once spun,The silken thread of all our aspirationsRemains intact,It can never be broken.

Only union with you gives joy. The rest if tearing down one building to put up another.