King's Gardens

In a quiet sylvan glade, amidst beauty, charm, and grace a new poetic force emerges to dance words wanton and chaste I caught him walking alone, On a path in my garden the gentle poet does not reflect me so I scream despair and rip out his throat With blood and tears dripping my hands clenched and gory If I can't write free and creative I must take infamous glory...

Monday, July 26, 2004

Today is my sisters birthday, i think I was one of the first to say Happy Birthday to her she actually said "You Rock"  how odd for her..
I'm tired today, but it is probably because of the nyquil I drank last night.  I don't think I'll write any poetry today, though I have been trying to get something posted to my website early every week.

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