Rubulad

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    Rubulad
    Beaming lights
    Strange sounds
    Someone hands a drink
    If you think
    You might have drink
    With surprise
    In the middle

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    Moniq’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    Rubulad 0 02/02/2009
    The younger me 2 01/24/2009
    buring 0 01/23/2009
    wind 1 01/23/2009
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