I labour, hands in dirt, hot sun on my back. All I have to offer is my heart, in this month of your zodiac. It's the first day of the week, the sun is beginning to set. I search for words and metaphors, yet your lips, the goal i've set.
Your lips
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
I labour, hands in dirt, hot sun on my back. All I have to offer is my heart, in this month of your zodiac. It's the first day of the week, the sun is beginning to set. I search for words and metaphors, yet your lips, the goal i've set.
I am my poetry, my poetry is me. I pray what I believe. I believe what I pray. View more posts
Smith Shine Poetry
thank you… appreciated…
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And a most alluring goal it is.
Beautifully expressed my friend,
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