Sin corazon
no hay vida
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
-
▼
2016
(372)
-
▼
December
(95)
- underfoot
- Your Son
- 1.) Mother (Where were You When I Saw Jesus?) 2....
- Paved
- Echo of bells from the steeple I do not wake Sim...
- An inability to forgive demonstrates An inability...
- I am not searching For cheap relief Give me the r...
- Dreams of a Sweet and Distant Life
- Hardwired for Kindness
- All that I have I will give you All that I have I...
- Dark Bloom
- Hewn Man
- Your youth is no promise of immortality.
- If there are no further words to sing I have no us...
- Who are we other than to bear witness to life?
- What are the parameters of your enslavement?
- Must the world be burning Before we begin to save it?
- year
- Man's cruelty is the least imaginative part of ou...
- If words are all we have we must give those away ...
- An iron heart must learn to forgive
- The Many Lives of Ghosts
- Rise
- clearing
- to speak again
- Alone you cry tonight Together but apart now Feeli...
- Rest your head Sleep in the peace Of Winter's drea...
- Rising to the sky Feet point downwards to the grou...
- Tyranny knows when to c...
- A Season of Unrealistic Expectations
- A Who's Who of Who is That?
- One-liners, Quips, Cracks, & Wit
- Too Angry to Cry
- Unseen Moments
- BRAIN WASHER
- Salvation
- Love & Death Sex & Grief
- Color of Flowers
- Joy & Grief
- Lyric Fragment
- Send me a postcard from Hell.
- Bitter Angels
- December morning Where are you now my dearest Floc...
- Present tensions Past life memories Future tense r...
- Death from a Clear Blue Sky
- Dreams from the Unborn World
- What good is flesh Separated from The soul?
- We carry on as normal Even if the world inside us ...
- Time is never a thing that is wasted- It is eithe...
- The Front Lines of Nowhere
- Struggles with Myself and Others.
- Shivering Skeleton Fingers
- How beautiful must an image be For me to carry it ...
- Life gives us as much as it takes from us.
- What Remains After
- living as a ghost all truths are revealed
- Your truth is more complicated than any lie could...
- How differently would we act If we knew how much l...
- I may be older But my heart is No less heavy.
- The Heavens grow too heavy with tears Fi...
- Whatever happened to All the promises I ever made...
- Your arms remain open Though I am miles and miles...
- Kindness and forgiveness both originate in the sa...
- The Name the Wind Calls Itself.
- Brother of my blood Are our bonds thicker Than tho...
- To Rise
- moving in silence breath in the chill morning air ...
- You woke and said it felt as though this were stil...
- Blood not spilled is blood still living.
- Elder
- Human Barbarism
- On Natural Rights of Man
- The spectre of hate and intolerance is more than a...
- Sin corazon no hay vida
- Your heart is Liberated territory. Defend it with ...
- If there are no gods in the heavens Then by what d...
- If only I could fly There would be no tree No bran...
- Meditation
- Bareness
- Nothing is True Everything is Possible
- Good days and better days.
- slow morning wake up consciousness filters back in...
- When
- Snowfall
- Molten gold poured down the throat of your enemie...
- Can truth still breed in a world full of liars?
- I am just a shadow of the love we once had.
- Dead-Eyed Horror Show
- My thoughts are carried away by the wind ...
- Dying creatures on an infertile world.
- If the light is catching you Will it let you go?
- Songs of a Distant Earth Songs for a Distant Earth
- Ignorance in the young is understandable. Ignoranc...
- Sin of Idleness
- December First
-
▼
December
(95)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
No comments:
Post a Comment