It sounds as if the raindrops are composing songs,
So gently knocking in the rhythm on the walls,
The streets, and also leaves of trees
That reach the windows on the third floor.
I lean closer to the flowers resting in the pots.
As they are being touched by drops I hear different sounds
Connected all together to a melody of motley tones,
So quiet now my soul is adding vocals.
If you listen, you might recognise the lullaby
The nature has created for mankind,
This not being easy lyrics to decipher,
I blame the rapid pace and our life style.
Still hoping everybody that will read my words
Will understand and sing along,
Don´t be afraid, I´ll show the way;
Life is a journey - as they say.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I take a deep breath, I count to 9…
Time has pushed my shoulders to the ground.
In slow motion the cord of scenes uncoils,
In the mirror only black and swollen wrinkles I behold.
With my face on frozen tiles
And tired eyes of looking for reflections,
I follow slender, slow red stream
My veins are all contracted, help! I cannot scream…
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I´m travelling through images of her,
Wondering: how is she? Do memories of me sometimes occur
And whom do they belong to?
She´s dancing in the circles all around my axis,
Wearing different panoramas and those massive
Hills that grow behind her back on the horizon,
Despite too many rumours her Majesty´s remaining silent.
On my knees, I bend down and kiss her feet
She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen,
And missing thee will cost me dear…
Only a blue line lies between us,
Your coast so close, I would only reach out
And touch the surface of your face,
Drinking tears, being witness of your grace.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale I´m travelling through images of her,
Wondering: how is she? Do memories of me sometimes occur
And whom do they belong to?
She´s dancing in the circles all around my axis,
Wearing different panoramas and those massive
Hills that grow behind her back on the horizon,
Despite too many rumours her Majesty´s remaining silent.
On my knees, I bend down and kiss her feet
She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen,
And missing thee will cost me dear…
Only a blue line lies between us,
Your coast so close, I would only reach out
And touch the surface of your face,
Drinking tears, being witness of your grace.
My flowers have finally found a peaceful garden where they
can grow without the fear of being attacked by malicious predators
thank you prof. Fins
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
I wish nature had endowed me with wings of hummingbird,
Perhaps you could´ve heard but I know you wouldn´t see me
Shooting from garden to garden looking for the sweetest bloom,
Playing saddest tunes when turning back,
Hey, we will get there soon!
I cannot curse the writer, who wrote for me my story,
Reshaping me throughout the past, adding voice so slowly.
My name I cannot change
Because he poured the turbid water on my shoulders,
But sometimes when I want to write,
I still have to flee from hunters.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
without contemplating much on the structure and lines.
thank you for reading
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Shhhhhhhhhh!
Don´t touch her while she is still asleep,
She is so peaceful, she hardly breathes!
Let her meet with all her ghosts,
It is only silence that all her fears exhausts.
I wish I had the power and call for them all,
To escort her with words and thoughts till dawn,
I know, she loves each and every one so strong,
Sometimes she would talk about them
And HUSH! when notice she is not alone.
It is a pity they don´t see her thoughts,
They can´t relate with feelings which they cause;
Her intentions noting but a harmless plea
To walk behind them, find shelter in this perilous sea.
If she would hear my onefold speech,
She would not at all be pleased;
I anticipate that very soon she will pull back
In her excuse declare that it is only energy she lacks.
She will remain a puzzling riddle
To which solution even she herself might never know,
Come on, it is time for us to go,
This is her dream now and she wants to be alone.
Shhhhhhhhhhh!
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale Shhhhhhhhhh!
Don´t touch her while she is still asleep,
She is so peaceful, she hardly breathes!
Let her meet with all her ghosts,
It is only silence that all her fears exhausts.
I wish I had the power and call for them all,
To escort her with words and thoughts till dawn,
I know, she loves each and every one so strong,
Sometimes she would talk about them
And HUSH! when notice she is not alone.
It is a pity they don´t see her thoughts,
They can´t relate with feelings which they cause;
Her intentions noting but a harmless plea
To walk behind them, find shelter in this perilous sea.
If she would hear my onefold speech,
She would not at all be pleased;
I anticipate that very soon she will pull back
In her excuse declare that it is only energy she lacks.
She will remain a puzzling riddle
To which solution even she herself might never know,
Come on, it is time for us to go,
This is her dream now and she wants to be alone.
Shhhhhhhhhhh!
*whispers* I really, really loved this one, exhale! Excellent! "Let her meet with all her ghosts" - !!! Magnificent!!!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
It is an amazing feeling when you know that you´re able to see
the spark of light when all the curtains to the world have been
closed long time ago. People walk in the complete darkness in
their lives, ignoring even the tiniest sunrays that make their way
through little holes in the curtains. And love… they forgot about it
right after they´d started walking.
How could they? Isn´t that the strongest impulse that made the
greatest writers create the gentlest stories, the best poets
compose the most beautiful poems, the most fearful warriors
fight the longest battles? It can move planets with just a slight
breath; it creates life and at the same time has the power to put
it back to sleep; it heals wounds made in the past but if it feels
like it, it can reopen them and make them grow even bigger.
How could you not be afraid of this awe-inspiring influence that is
the engine and the death penalty for mankind at the same time?
So little respect we show for it, underestimating it´s impact on
one´s mind. It is the universal melody for all the nations; despite
different language, everybody can sing along.
I was one of the luckiest that has been allowed to walk on love´s
greatest paths and given a chance to get to know it better. My
ghost is peaceful and I can write. Through this experience I´ve
learnt to understand both sides: the good one and the best one.
Unfortunately, my verse wasn´t strong enough to unwrap the
iron cover to this magnificent and mysterious emotion for
everybody out there; I´ve failed and I apologize.
I have, therefore, decided to draw back from this forum and let
the ´written´ thread go down. I might still take a peek into it
from time to time to refill with inspiration and admire the art that
CAN be created in this immaterial space.
I also want to thank everybody for being a part of my poetry,
supporting it with your thoughts and comments, and also
influencing it with your critique: positive as well as negative.
Love you all too much,
Exhale :(
… this is even harder than I thought ...
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I should´ve stayed at the back,
Move nothing, just listen and follow the tracks,
Compare words with words and let them be marked.
Page after page just piles of her play-up,
No end to this game,
My advice - rub off that make up!!!
Annoyed by the sounds of the two syllable name
I better go back, no do doubt – he is sane.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Originally posted by exhale I should´ve stayed at the back,
Move nothing, just listen and follow the tracks,
Compare words with words and let them be marked.
Page after page just piles of her play-up,
No end to this game,
My advice - rub off that make up!!!
Annoyed by the sounds of the two syllable name
I better go back, no do doubt – he is sane.
I love your exhalations! So nice to see you!
Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
A year goes by and one would expect to never see you again in this galaxy of words. And yet you kept on ornamenting this planet with your magnificent work. I missed so much .... and i missed YOU so much as well!
Will you be able to invite me to come along a second time ?
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
My words most gracefully and easily should flow,
My thoughts sing the sounds of morning tears,
Follow sunrays throughout the day,
And by nightfall, conclude this serenade of evening dew.
I should live the consciousness of being this,
Be proud of the composition of my name
Because it is not plain and I shall not let it die in vain.
Hard work, they say,
It is, indeed,
But this cannot oversound the fear
When hearing, in the background, thoughts debate:
She is a poet and that´s her fate.
Am I blessed, or is this a curse?
Whatever choice the gods will make,
My heart the sea of words will wave,
For I am a poet and that´s my fate.
...some things simply never change, no matter how long you wonder around looking for exits...
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
-1-
The circle of day.
Dancing in the triangle
And nothing to say.
-2-
Plain piece of paper.
Playing with colours,
None I could distinguish.
-3-
Drop after drop
In the desert of thoughts.
There´s too much to say.
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
It is useless expecting things to happen. You´re sitting on the thoughts you want to forget but you keep asking questions, completely irrelevant for this time of being. You are here and you can choose; choose to write your words or choose to read your words. One or the other, it will always bring you back to the same spot and you will have to start all over again. First write, then read…write, read….write, read….
I cannot scream, and so I write. I regret spending lines on justifying a few words to make my mind less vulnerable. Meanwhile, I missed the butterflies resting on the blooms on my balcony. So many colours combined with the soft summer breeze which could´ve made my day worthwhile. Following the traces of too many others in the past, I spoiled a moment and I will never be able to bring it back. It´s like the first kiss… the absolute anticipation in the seconds, which seem like ages, before it happens. You cannot fight the contraction of the muscles in your stomach, it makes you feel unpleasant but still you couldn´t remember of a better feeling. It is the fear, the annoyance of a certain impulse that makes you almost sick, nevertheless, if given the opportunity, you´d want enjoy it´s continuity every single moment of your life.
I write to make my life an everlasting first kiss…
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Comments
So gently knocking in the rhythm on the walls,
The streets, and also leaves of trees
That reach the windows on the third floor.
I lean closer to the flowers resting in the pots.
As they are being touched by drops I hear different sounds
Connected all together to a melody of motley tones,
So quiet now my soul is adding vocals.
If you listen, you might recognise the lullaby
The nature has created for mankind,
This not being easy lyrics to decipher,
I blame the rapid pace and our life style.
Still hoping everybody that will read my words
Will understand and sing along,
Don´t be afraid, I´ll show the way;
Life is a journey - as they say.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Time has pushed my shoulders to the ground.
In slow motion the cord of scenes uncoils,
In the mirror only black and swollen wrinkles I behold.
With my face on frozen tiles
And tired eyes of looking for reflections,
I follow slender, slow red stream
My veins are all contracted, help! I cannot scream…
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Wondering: how is she? Do memories of me sometimes occur
And whom do they belong to?
She´s dancing in the circles all around my axis,
Wearing different panoramas and those massive
Hills that grow behind her back on the horizon,
Despite too many rumours her Majesty´s remaining silent.
On my knees, I bend down and kiss her feet
She is the most beautiful lady I have ever seen,
And missing thee will cost me dear…
Only a blue line lies between us,
Your coast so close, I would only reach out
And touch the surface of your face,
Drinking tears, being witness of your grace.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Your poems become more and more beautiful.
can grow without the fear of being attacked by malicious predators
thank you prof. Fins
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Perhaps you could´ve heard but I know you wouldn´t see me
Shooting from garden to garden looking for the sweetest bloom,
Playing saddest tunes when turning back,
Hey, we will get there soon!
I cannot curse the writer, who wrote for me my story,
Reshaping me throughout the past, adding voice so slowly.
My name I cannot change
Because he poured the turbid water on my shoulders,
But sometimes when I want to write,
I still have to flee from hunters.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
without contemplating much on the structure and lines.
thank you for reading
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Don´t touch her while she is still asleep,
She is so peaceful, she hardly breathes!
Let her meet with all her ghosts,
It is only silence that all her fears exhausts.
I wish I had the power and call for them all,
To escort her with words and thoughts till dawn,
I know, she loves each and every one so strong,
Sometimes she would talk about them
And HUSH! when notice she is not alone.
It is a pity they don´t see her thoughts,
They can´t relate with feelings which they cause;
Her intentions noting but a harmless plea
To walk behind them, find shelter in this perilous sea.
If she would hear my onefold speech,
She would not at all be pleased;
I anticipate that very soon she will pull back
In her excuse declare that it is only energy she lacks.
She will remain a puzzling riddle
To which solution even she herself might never know,
Come on, it is time for us to go,
This is her dream now and she wants to be alone.
Shhhhhhhhhhh!
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
*whispers* I really, really loved this one, exhale! Excellent!
the spark of light when all the curtains to the world have been
closed long time ago. People walk in the complete darkness in
their lives, ignoring even the tiniest sunrays that make their way
through little holes in the curtains. And love… they forgot about it
right after they´d started walking.
How could they? Isn´t that the strongest impulse that made the
greatest writers create the gentlest stories, the best poets
compose the most beautiful poems, the most fearful warriors
fight the longest battles? It can move planets with just a slight
breath; it creates life and at the same time has the power to put
it back to sleep; it heals wounds made in the past but if it feels
like it, it can reopen them and make them grow even bigger.
How could you not be afraid of this awe-inspiring influence that is
the engine and the death penalty for mankind at the same time?
So little respect we show for it, underestimating it´s impact on
one´s mind. It is the universal melody for all the nations; despite
different language, everybody can sing along.
I was one of the luckiest that has been allowed to walk on love´s
greatest paths and given a chance to get to know it better. My
ghost is peaceful and I can write. Through this experience I´ve
learnt to understand both sides: the good one and the best one.
Unfortunately, my verse wasn´t strong enough to unwrap the
iron cover to this magnificent and mysterious emotion for
everybody out there; I´ve failed and I apologize.
I have, therefore, decided to draw back from this forum and let
the ´written´ thread go down. I might still take a peek into it
from time to time to refill with inspiration and admire the art that
CAN be created in this immaterial space.
I also want to thank everybody for being a part of my poetry,
supporting it with your thoughts and comments, and also
influencing it with your critique: positive as well as negative.
Love you all too much,
Exhale :(
… this is even harder than I thought ...
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
this is a freukin awesome poem.
well done
Forever and ever ....Pearl Jam
.......
Move nothing, just listen and follow the tracks,
Compare words with words and let them be marked.
Page after page just piles of her play-up,
No end to this game,
My advice - rub off that make up!!!
Annoyed by the sounds of the two syllable name
I better go back, no do doubt – he is sane.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I love your exhalations!
good morning poets!
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
i can so relate
A year goes by and one would expect to never see you again in this galaxy of words. And yet you kept on ornamenting this planet with your magnificent work. I missed so much .... and i missed YOU so much as well!
Will you be able to invite me to come along a second time ?
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
My thoughts sing the sounds of morning tears,
Follow sunrays throughout the day,
And by nightfall, conclude this serenade of evening dew.
I should live the consciousness of being this,
Be proud of the composition of my name
Because it is not plain and I shall not let it die in vain.
Hard work, they say,
It is, indeed,
But this cannot oversound the fear
When hearing, in the background, thoughts debate:
She is a poet and that´s her fate.
Am I blessed, or is this a curse?
Whatever choice the gods will make,
My heart the sea of words will wave,
For I am a poet and that´s my fate.
...some things simply never change, no matter how long you wonder around looking for exits...
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
The circle of day.
Dancing in the triangle
And nothing to say.
-2-
Plain piece of paper.
Playing with colours,
None I could distinguish.
-3-
Drop after drop
In the desert of thoughts.
There´s too much to say.
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
I look forward to reading more
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
I cannot scream, and so I write. I regret spending lines on justifying a few words to make my mind less vulnerable. Meanwhile, I missed the butterflies resting on the blooms on my balcony. So many colours combined with the soft summer breeze which could´ve made my day worthwhile. Following the traces of too many others in the past, I spoiled a moment and I will never be able to bring it back. It´s like the first kiss… the absolute anticipation in the seconds, which seem like ages, before it happens. You cannot fight the contraction of the muscles in your stomach, it makes you feel unpleasant but still you couldn´t remember of a better feeling. It is the fear, the annoyance of a certain impulse that makes you almost sick, nevertheless, if given the opportunity, you´d want enjoy it´s continuity every single moment of your life.
I write to make my life an everlasting first kiss…
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
LOVE IT!!!!!
*butterfly kisses*
I was reading through this.
There is some rtruly remarkable stuff in here!
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
I met exhale. Lovely woman. Hope she's well.