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
o masca ascunde tristetzea ei
alta ascunde frica...
transforma incruntarile in zambete
lacrimi in fericire shi ras...
predicand multzimii
adunata in fatza ei.
o marioneta controlata de
sfori
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