PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

O deadlines

A boy from Upper sadness

Oh, my tears

From the eye of the drunk fool

Wide open to narrowed his wealth in his temples

And in the horizon they were scornful

Closed before meeting you

Crossroads

Oh, the same rant for the dawn of his arrival

the orientation of a certain friendliness and sweetness

The wishes of the sons of the flower and its stature

fed from the rhythms of appetite and kisses

the longing of the rivers  dijalh

Secret in self scheduling

Flowing between the soul

an echo and majesty

O my fear

You have to whisper if you stay

The spirit of snakes acquires the clergy

I counted it as a stick

In the hands of Musa praying

hastened to submissiveness of the soul to the feet

And today you come as if I were your savior

And the death of the dead with words of deafness defect

How can the heart tell patience long over due

And how to pronounce on her shoulders amused

This would have been cut off by those mountains

would be ashamed of the souls