I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. -Pablo Neruda

Sabtu, 01 Oktober 2011

PRAYING



oh God..can't you believe my stories?
it's always dark...dark and so darkness
nothing shiny here..always nothing
my heart deeply raged and confused
please God...can't you believe my stories?
at least for this time..make it lil bit of light to guide me away from this feelings..
please God..if You're there...

-Someone's pray-


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