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christian poetry

no esté enojado con mí
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
melancolía, azul era
los arcos del puente rojo
escrito en una noche del vuelo
no éramos muchos
cómo es salvaje, cómo bruja-como extraño que la vida debe ser
expresemos nuestras pasiones más bajas
ponemos
oscuro-eyed
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
déjenos compasión los de quienes sea mejor que nosotros son

 



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