There are no promises.
Oh what a scene this is.
It reminds me of the house with
Pink flamingos in the yard.
The sun warms my mind.
But I could use the rain to start new.
Pride takes its toll.
Many little truths are swimming in the river.
And chances are picked up by strangers.
These passersbys’ with cups of stale coffee,
Hide their front porch philosophies.
There is no catch, except for the
Pink flamingos in the yard.
Oh what a scene this is.
3 comments:
He continues to speak a few more words. Each word burns into your soul, for these are your keys to liberation.
Your voice and your money is no good here.
:) Good to see you're blogging again!
Post a Comment