Viewing 0 reply threads
  • Mates

    • When wrapped in words calm
      Unable to exist in clamour [violence]

      The bringing of loving hands in accepting hands, close

      Wealth !

      The Spirit True blew upon strings of pain
      It could not rain yet

      Pain yields to itself, oft……

      To let the peacock get drenched with its comrade
      Make the placid stream, be resplendent in its beckoning sun
      The wealth of knowing what it is to live again………….

      Mates are never able to be apart
      A, Spirit True does beckon its own!

Viewing 0 reply threads
Reply To: Mates
Your information:


Register | Lost your password?