Come windless invaderI am a carnival ofStars, a poem of blood.
Your hair is winter fire,January embers.My heart burns there, too.-Stephen King, IT
We had a threesomeYou, me and my depressionDepression fucks hard
If it weren't for dreams, he said. I wouldn't know half the things I know about the future. They're better than Olympus tabloids. He cleared his throat then held up his hands dramatically: Dreams like...
Unto you is bornin the city of Davida Savior for all.
Dreams like a podcast,Downloading truth in my ears.They tell me cool stuff.Apollo? I guess, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad.
I preserve my worldin journals so my children can eat without me
Wise men come to seea child of greater wisdomand honor divine.
Snap your fingerstop the world - rain falls harder
These are some of the characteristics of the state of mind which the creation and appreciation of haiku demand: Selflessness, Loneliness, Grateful Acceptance, Wordlessness, Non-intellectuality, Contra...
Every bonsaidreams of being a tall tree - until the wind blows
The love of nature is religion, and that religion is poetry; these three things are one thing. This is the unspoken creed of haiku poets.
It is easy to believe we are each waves and forget we are also the ocean.
Exhale the remnants/Of wounds that steal your freedom./No more prisons. Breathe.
You were almost like a haiku: said so little, but meant so much.
Gingerbread houseswith gumdrops and peppermintand marshmallow snow.
Rare and precious gifts,gold and myrrh and frankincense,to offer a king.
Born on straw at nightunder low stable rafters,Baby Jesus cried.
Sheep and goats and cowsgather 'round a manger bedto awe at a babe.
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