The cold inside the division
I call room has frost in our hearts
Conjured evil by no means known,
An angry lack of vocabulary,
Called description
of a mean mother fucher.
Children of blue eyes and black hair play around me.
My insurance and ignobility are balance.
A common lance at my endurance,
Let´s pray for us all, eyes at the skies above.
Hands grabing a magical dove.
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Autor:
Mera Gente (Seudónimo) (
Offline) - Publicado: 27 de noviembre de 2013 a las 06:31
- Categoría: Cuento
- Lecturas: 46
Offline)
Comentarios1
Cute poem!!
Gracias, amigo.
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