Ohm

vrei sa ma iei de nevasta?...ar fi nemaipomenit...ai fi asa de fericit...ne-am fi casatori in india, cu matase si clopotei si as dansa pentru tine...as purta o fusta simpla si frumoasa, orice culoare

si ea se opreste... \"nu am devenit inca persoanele ce santem meniti sa fim\"...ochii lui sunt patrunzatori insa vocea lui tremura... \"bineinteles ca nu!\" ii vine ei sa strige...\"sant oameni de

cand exista inghesuiala, ma invart...in jur si in jur in cercuri...luminile colorate sant ingerii mei pazitori...nu e ca in filme...e mai mult loc si mai putin prost gust...e aproape ca un basm...si

it\'s easy to get caught up in life\'s old cliches...but sometimes I can\'t help but think that for some cosmic reason I will never know, everyone gets what they really deserve in life, and injustice

the Pauper Poet, afraid not of the darkness, but the light that surrounds it. perished, prosperity and the wanting for words. talent terminated, depth destroyed, all cadences fail me

there are very few things in my life that, given the chance I would do differently...there are even fewer things that I hold important enough to die for...actually, scratch that, wrong word, live

seen the picture mental picture fashioned fiction from what\'s real spun the spiral downward slope slipping, reaching for the shore... things you could never explain things you could never

furtuna a trecut. zgomotul tunetului se retrage. fulgerele luminand in departare cu taceri din ce in ce mai lungi intre ele. o picatura de ploaie atarna pe marginea unei

dragostea, ca o ceascha delicata de portzelan poate fi ciobita shi reparata... putzin lipici shi e ca noua nu? de cate ori poate fi ciobita insa shi reparata pana cand incepe sa

He created it. And in time he looked down and saw that it was good. \"I shall call this place \"poezie.ro\", in so much as it is a mixing of many sources, come together under me, to create a

last night I spent the darkest night, dreaming of you in love. I saw in this dream, the vision of two bodies, embraced after hours of romance. The girl was not me, and I am

unmoved are we reluctantly set in our ways. a watermark in the basin. or not in love. enough. to fine-tune the differences. the percent of the milk. the

I dreamed of meeting you in a long black dress with 20 gold buttons a big smile on my face and a big blue moon shining in the sky just the look in your eyes melted five buttons off the

\"...mi-a facut placere sa o vad pe Annie din now shi mi-am dat seama ce persoana nemaipomenita este shi ce bine imi pare ca o cunosc shi m-am gindit la o gluma mai veche, despre un tip care se duce

el s-a apropiat, dansind parca, shi cu grija a facut o gaura microscopica in mijlocul pieptului ei... a usturat-o putzin ca o mushcatura de tzintar insa fiind asha de mica ea nici macar nu i-a

atinge-ma, tremur. stringe-ma in bratze, ma calmez, rasuflu adinc. intreaba-ma, ma inroshesc in obraji. uita-te la mine, fug. ma gindesc. sper. ofera-mi complimente, zimbesc. danseaza cu

it\'s amazing how the tone and texture of the morning can be so charged so enhanced so lightened by the sound of your voice on the phone you may never realize how you affect me like a

the fragrant pungent aroma fills the air zig zagging moisture scents like a hikers trail tracing the path back to the pot of black gold pouring the umber fluid into my china cup nostrils are

We don\'t read and write poetry because it\'s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business,

how i long to hold thee till mornings light then rip down these walls of spoken thought ravage this language we hold so dear strip away all conventional wisdom to bare a heartfelt human

more dreams angelic prose I grow numb to it all I let you all in without destroying my wall one is the same as the others are different (another angel’s kiss without knowing what it

Where can I begin? Where will it end? Well, either in the year 2003 or the year 2006, most likely the latter. The remaining timeline grows thinner as the world grows fatter. It doesn\'t matter,

The deaths of the liars The lives of the saints The picture of silence Is the one that we paint Burning our bridges Is all fine and well But sinking the ship Will send you to hell Apathy is