Monday, 13 April 2015
NaPoWriMo 13
Wanted by the world am I,
oft in desperate short supply,
life's pursuit and worries' root, more
dear than any heap of loot,
hid in all the simplest things, like
flying kites or plucking strings,
found in unexpected places,
remedy for dismal faces,
onto me you all must cling,
I am a fleeting, fickle thing,
find me and the stars you'll bless, for
I am your own happiness.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
Day Twenty-Nine Seems like you were always leaving Or left. Leaving with Your roaring engine voice. Left in the split Of your fire-crack...
-
Day Twenty Fantastic style designs on pottery from Hacilar. Image from Yakar 2005. The ancients believed That culture was Construed by pot... -
Day 2 Simple fingers to the string What a little thing to cultivate, unreal as it is; not to be seen or touched but felt, enduring, where so...
No comments:
Post a Comment