i was born one day many years ago . .
i am told it was difficult for ma;
might've been easier, had she let go.
i'm a fine one to talk . . i still miss pa.
life's a mystery which deepens in time.
- a scent from she who'd made paper for me;
then some portraits, so sad, seemed a crime,
but whose commissions helped to set me free.
We're not all liars, cheats, thieves, and swindlers ,
some work for their living; just not for free -
My job's with words, colors, stones and jugglers,
keeping my jugular where you can't see.
Am from a love so hard ofttimes it hurts;
better that, than fakes, whose worth clocks in hertz.
My job's with words, colors, stones and jugglers,
keeping my jugular where you can't see.
Am from a love so hard ofttimes it hurts;
better that, than fakes, whose worth clocks in hertz.
(˚ ㄥ _˚)
jts 17/9/2014
http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com
http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
prohibited from AI sampling in any form
reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
∞
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