Latest quotes | Random quotes | Vote! | Latest comments | Add quote

Octav Bibere

Marketing is science able to sell the demon hooves as angel wings!

aphorism by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Octav Bibere
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Related quotes

The Demon Won

the demon won
the game
i lost
ill not be the same

the demon took
everything
i lost
i am nothing

the demon destroyed
my spirit
i lost
no one believes it

the demon ate
my soul
im lost
in this empty hole

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Being Able to Fit the Shoes I Wear

Being able to fit the shoes I wear,
Is not a question I raise.
It is the whining sounds of pain I hear,
From those who believed...
They were able to walk a mile in them.
And when I have them on...
They feel comfortable.
Fitting me perfectly!
With not one complaint,
From them have I ever given.
To feel free to be me wherever I traveled.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Pain is the Demon...

Pain is the only thing,
I feel anymore,
pain is the demon,
knocking at the door.

Pain is the only thing,
I feel is alive,
pain is the demon,
that makes up my whole life.

Pain is the only thing,
that proves the world is real,
pain is the demon,
hiding in the fields.

Pain is the demon,
hiding in the shadows,
pain is the demon,
that makes the world so shallow.

Pain controls us all,
whether we realize it or not,
pain is the demon,
that controls life.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

PAIN..The DEMON........

Pain is the only thing,
I feel anymore,
pain is the demon,
knocking at the door.

Pain is the only thing,
I feel is alive,
pain is the demon,
that makes up my whole life.

Pain is the only thing,
that proves the world is real,
pain is the demon,
hiding in the fields.

Pain is the demon,
hiding in the shadows,
pain is the demon,
that makes the world so shallow.

Pain controls us all,
whether we realize it or not,
pain is the demon,
that controls life.! !

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Works of The Demon

Bomb them down you do,
For sick addicting reasons.
Massive deception...
Cracks the walls you build to deceive.
Disturbing are your stealthy steps,
On your own soil to control and perplex.

You claim straight face...
Others terrorize.
But your eyes delight with these deeds.
Nothing connects
Your objective to hunt others.
And images of yours
Reflects on shattered tower beams.

And when revealed...
These wounds will never heal!
Works of the demon,
Are peeling off your heels!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

A Little Catechism From The Demon

What is a demon? Study my life.
What is a mountain? Set out now.
What is fire? It is for ever.
What is my life? A fall, a call.
What is the deep? Set out now.
What is thunder? Your power dry.
What is the film? It rolls, it tells.
What is the film? Under the Falls.
Where is the theatre? Under the hill.
Where is the demon? Walking the hills.
Where is the victory? On the high tops.
Where is the fire? Far in the deep.
Where is the deep? Study the demon.
Where is the mountain? Set out now.
Study my life and set out now.

'Demon'; , Glasgow: Mariscat Press, 1999, p. 28.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Waking The Demon

A cold, blunt and loathsome stare
Stood out amongst a crowd of deceitful smiles
A charred mix of melancholy oozing beneath
Filling my lungs with gorging heat
Tempted to waking the demon within
I tread past quickly avoiding a scene
Shunting his anger all over me
He shut my way out leaving me scornful

I feel the hair on my back rise
Waiting for the abrupt change
Sweat and heat shakes me with anger
Leaving me dangerous and unapproachable
Letting me go would be a wiser choice,
But no, he wouldn’t! He believes in fate
And fate is a funny thing
Because it always ends in grief..!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon In Me

The demon in me's not dead,
He's living, and well.
In the body as in a hold,
In the self as in a cell.
The world is but walls.
The exit's the axe.
("All the world's a stage,"
The actor prates.)
And that hobbling buffoon
Is no joker;
In the body as in glory,
In the body as in a toga.
May you live forever!
Cherish your life,
Only poets in bone
Are as in a lie.
No, my eloquent brothers,
We'll not have much fun,
In the body as with Father's
Dressing-gown on.
We deserve something better.
We wilt in the warm.
In the body as in a byre.
In the self as in a cauldron.
Marvels that perish
We don't collect.
In the body as in a marsh,
In the body as in a crypt.
In the body as in furthest
Exile. It blights.
In the body as in a secret,
In the body as in the vice
Of an iron mask.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon Within

When I was eleven years of age
my mother whispered in my ear
that everyman has a demon inside
and it lives within men’s fear.

When he struggles to get his way,
the demon will show a mood.
Find fault with all manner of things,
and become extremely rude.

And when it’s feeling sorry for itself,
it will say as it raises its ugly head,
“No one thinks or cares about me, ”
and throws a tantrum, and goes to bed.

After having a long stressful day at work,
the inner demon is straining at the leash.
Its temper is fermenting and ready to explode
at anyone within easy reach.

When a man is in a quiet subdued mood,
and something weighs upon his mind.
The demon is stirring up another volcano,
and an eruption is only a matter of time.

If a man is losing his way in an argument,
it will prompt them to raise his voice.
At the very least this will overpower everyone,
of course it’s a last bastion of intercourse.

When you grow up my son and become a man
remember your hidden demon.
For everyone’s sake keep it locked away
and don’t release it for any reason.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon Lord (Part V)

The air is thick
Smoke rises from the flames
Phelan’s blades scrap against the floor
In front of Him stands the Demon Lord
Fire spews from its mouth
The flames engulf Phelan
They fly from his body
The floor shakes as the Demon Lord leaps down from his throne
Their eyes meet
The flames grow
The Hatred within the Demon Lord’s heart grows
Your reign is over
Are the words that fly from Phelan’s mouth
The words are met by fire
His blades shine
The Demon Lord’s hand grabs a sword
A blade of pure fire appears
Both opponents know the other must die
Fire fills the room
The heat is unbearable
Yet both struggle against each other
Your reign is over
Gold strikes fire
Silver strikes fire
Fire strikes armor
Both slowly weaken
The battle rages on
Your reign is over
Neither gives ground
Neither gain ground
Phelan lifts his mighty blades to the sky
The Demon Lord strikes
Your reign is over
The gold crashes down
The sword of fire is shattered
The pieces fly over the entire world
Your reign is over
The silver blade slices through the air
A gurgled scream is heard through the lands
The body of the Demon Lord crumples
The head rolls out of the palace
As Phelan whips the blood from the swords he yells
Your reign is over

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon Milk

'Yer honor, please!' the prisoner said,
'It isn't wot you think.
To look on wine when it is red
Or alco'olic drink
Is not among me little ways.
I been teetotal all me days.

It ain't the wine, it ain't the beer,
It ain't the gin-an'-two
That bows me 'ead in sorrer 'ere.
'Tain't no fermented brew
That druv me on to sin an' strife.
Hark: 'Ere's the story of me life.

When I was just a little kid
I was a model child.
Wot I was tole to do I did,
Reel innercint an' mild.
But, bein' wise, an' unlike some,
At one year old I 'owled for rum.

Me nurse, wot was a strict t.t.
Aimed my young soul to bilk,
An' every day she flooded me
Wiv quarts an' quarts of milk.
Oh, 'ow the stuff coursed thro' each vein
An' set on fire me tiny brain.

At five, as well may be believed,
I was a little tough;
For by that then I 'ad conceived
A cravin' for the stuff.
I swiped it from each neighbor's door,
An' roamed the district seekin' more.

The cravin', sir, it got me down,
When I grew to a man;
I raided dairies thro' the town,
Pinched bottle, billy-can,
An' never could resist no'ow
The fascination of a cow.

It ain't the rum, it ain't the beer
Oh, 'ow I wish it was!
That brings me ignominy 'ere.
'Ave pity, sir, becos
It was the demon milk, I vows,
That made me pinch that 'erd of cows.'

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

A Case Of The Demon Drink

How many times have we heard
alcohol called the demon drink,
many.many times I suppose,
but there is no such thing as the demon drink.
Now when Jesus turned water into wine,
I’m sure that he didn’t put any demons in it
just to spice it up.

The demon drink as it is called
originated with the Temperance Movement.
Astonishing enough the movement was not started
by a woman, but was formed by a man.
What I am about to tell you
is the untold story about its origins.

It all started in the early 1800’s
with Henry Whittle and his wife Gertrude.
Now Henry was a boozer
who could lay the drink down
with the best of them.

One night he got carried away
on a sea of alcohol.
He went so far that
he wasn’t sure just where he lived.
He left his friends at the bar
and off he staggered.
He found the street where he lived
and staggered down it.

What house did he live at he wasn’t really sure.
All he knew was his Gertrude
always left the door unlocked for him.
He began to try the doors one by one,
when one opened
he quickly stumbled in.

He climbed the stairs as quietly as he could,
shucking his clothes as he went.
Until finally all that he had on
was his red long johns and his boots.
He tiptoed along to the bedroom
where he could hear Gertrude snoring.

Moving inside he climbed into bed.
What Henry didn’t know
he was in the wrong house.
The house belonged to Pierre the lumberjack,
and when he climbed into bed,
he climbed in bed it was with Pierre.

As you don’t cut down trees in the winter,
Pierre had come home.
He was a big man
with a big red Santa Claus beard,
and Henry had crawled into bed with him.

Morning awoke and so did Henry
just as Pierre rolled over.
Henry stared wide-eyed,
confronting the bushy whiskers of Pierre.
Henry’s first thoughts were
Gertrude had grown a beard overnight.

He rolled his eyes around
staring at the bushy faced figure,
then realise it was not Gertrude, but Pierre.
You can imagine his horror
as he slipped out of bed,
gathered up his clothes and ran.

Getting outside he darted up the road
with the back of his red long johns flapping.
People in the street looked around
at Henry doing a moony
and shook their heads.
We can imagine what they were thinking.

Finally, Henry got home
and who was waiting for him,
Gertrude with a rolling pin in hand.
“What floozy were you with last night? ”
She asked. “Don’t you like to me.”

Before Henry could answer,
the rolling pin came down
and Henry saw stars.
As a consequence,
Henry never drank again.
He tried to encourage his friends
to do the same.

The Temperance Movement was born
and Henry’s alcoholic demons
died of dehydration.
After that, he walked around
with a sign saying
DOWN WITH THE DEMON DRINK.

1 April 2008


Happy April Fools Day.
Hoping no one fooled you today.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon Horse On The Carousel

The trucks came in with the travelling show
To the heart of our western town,
They set their tents in the twilight glow
And circled the wagons round,
While we, the boys of the neighbourhood
Were watching with minds alight,
The girls in the pearl bikini’s
Who would brave the trapeze that night!

The light sprang out of a million bulbs
In yellow and pink and green,
Lighting the booths of the grinning clowns
That you rolled a ball between,
A Carny carolled, ‘A Penny a shy! ’
And leered, with his gold-capped teeth,
Like a hungry shark at the fattest Mark,
But with eyes of a petty thief!

And then the music began to stir
Like a grind from an organ song,
The puffing steam of the calliope
As the crowd began to throng,
While horses bucked and lowered their heads
The Carousel went by,
Riding on into the future as
It left us, high and dry.

I stayed all night by the Carousel,
Watching the people ride,
Off to a magical future where
No-one grew old, or died,
The organ stuttered its music
And the steam puffed by in clouds,
As a big black horse by the inner rail
Stood wrapped in a sheet-like shroud!

Nobody rode that noble horse,
Nobody even tried,
The Barker motioned the folks away
When they strayed to the horse’s side,
But I stood still and hypnotised
To watch as it rose and fell,
Its mane a-stream like the darkest dream,
As dark as the deepest well!

I waited until they called - ‘Last ride,
The last ride for the night! ’
I paid my money and climbed aboard
And went for the horse - ‘Midnight! ’
The Barker stood with his back to me
Was calling the ride aloud,
So I hid beside the great black horse,
Pulled off the enveloping shroud!

The ride was off and away, I leapt
And clung to the horse’s mane,
Its head was tossing so high and proud,
This horse had never been tame!
The stars were high in the midnight sky,
The Moon was up and about,
But then the music began to change,
And the lights of the ride went out.

The wind blew up and the world went by
And the Carousel spun round,
I couldn’t see past the horses head,
We seemed to be far from the ground,
The horse got rid of its wooden pole
Whinnied, while shaking its head,
Then turned to look at the boy on its back,
And the glass in its eyes glowed red.

The music suddenly turned around
Ran backwards around the rig,
Just like a mad asylum sound,
It seemed like a whirligig,
While ‘Midnight’ galloped on through the stars
And bucked and pranced in the air,
And I grew sick with a deadly fear
I’d be thrown off its back out there!

The ride continued for hour on hour,
We travelled down to the core,
I saw some visions of what might be…
I don’t want to see any more!
‘Just take me back to the town, ’ I cried,
‘Just let my nightmare be! ’
The horse looked on me with glowing eyes,
I’d swear that he pitied me!

The lights came on in the Carousel,
The horse, it came to a stop,
I slipped and fell from the horse’s back,
And the Barker helped me up.
I felt so stiff I could barely move,
The man said – ‘and that’s why…
We never let fellows as old as you
Take the Demon Horse for a ride! ’

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon under the Altar Stone

As a boy in a ruff and a surplice, gown,
I sang in the choir of a country town,
Under the eye of the Reverend Burr
In a church that had stood for a thousand years.

A church so old that it reeked of damp
From the days of an Anglo-Saxon camp,
They'd built their Church on a Druid site
To banish the wailing ghosts at night!

The Romans had slaughtered the Druid priests
In a river of blood at a Druid Feast,
And still their cries could be heard on nights
When the moon gleamed red by the altar lights.

The beams streamed in through the leadlight glass
With an eerie glow that was overcast,
Illumined the ancient altar stone
That covered the Bishop of Cædmon's bones.

The slab that lay on the floor was lipp'd
As it covered the age-old church's crypt,
And there was a crack, an inch around
Through to the crypt there, under the ground.

From where I sat in the old oak pew
I could see the back of the altar, too,
And through a gap where the floor was bare
Were moving shadows that shouldn't be there!

The crypt had been sealed, eight hundred years
Since the Normans had taken the Saxon Reeves,
Imprisoned them down in the crypt for good
Then walled them in - (so I understood!)

And there they suffered and there they died
The Shire Reeves of the countryside,
And no-one had ever been down there since,
Or disturbed their bones... for the merest glimpse.

The Reverend Burr was hellfire bent,
His sermons called to the sinners, 'Repent! '
He ranted and raved of a jealous God,
And asked why nobody reck'd his rod.

The smell of sulphur hung in the air
After a sermon by Reverend Burr,
And brimstone caught in my nostrils so
That I almost gagged at the horror below.

One Sunday, kneeling at evensong
I stared at the ancient altar stone,
And there I saw, and to my surprise,
A glow that appeared to be two red eyes!

They glowed bright red, and they stared at me
As if I were alone in the gallery,
My mind was full of the vicar's gall,
And I felt that a demon had pawned my soul.

The eyes dropped down in the crypt instead
And shadows moved, to my mounting dread,
So after the service I hurried on home,
As far as I could from that altar stone!

A week went by, and I thought of things,
Convinced they must be imaginings,
So off I went to the choir again,
But just to be safe, I whispered, 'Ben! '

'You see the crack in the altar stone,
Just tell me if I'm the only one,
I saw two eyes in that crack last week,
They scared me so much that I couldn't speak! '

The vicar stood by the altar there
With his bulging eyes and his crazy hair
And he roared and he pounded his fist on down
'Til it shook and it rattled the altar stone.

He spoke of torment and endless grief,
For the sin of pride, and the skulking thief,
For the lover of all material things,
The women who covered their hands with rings!

Adulterers were the scourge of God
And would fall in the cracks of the earth, he said,
While those who harboured an impure thought,
Their hopes of heaven were set at naught.

(But all the while it was widely known
That the vicar had been with the widow Rowan,
She'd visited him at the rectory,
And breakfasted in the Refectory) .

His voice rose up and the altar stone
Began to rumble and then to groan,
I felt Ben tense at the side of me
As the eyes rose up, as red as could be!

The eyes rose up and peered from the gloom
Of the crypt, long cursed by a Druid Moon,
The more the vicar harangued and roared,
The more that it rumbled under the floor.

The doors blew open, the wind blew in
Like a storm raised up from the depths of sin,
The people ran for the path outside,
'You've raised the devil, ' the people cried.

And then the floor it had opened up
Where the vicar stood, he had said enough!
Just for a moment we caught a glimpse
Of the thing in the crypt that we've not seen since!

An evil demon with blood-red eyes,
With hands like hooks of a monstrous size,
And teeth that grinned in the fading gloom,
The vicar fell into that terrible room.

We heard him scream just once down there
The sound of a sinner beyond despair,
And then the demon went down with a drone,
Covered the hole with the altar stone!

That church stood empty, unused for years,
They said that it carried a Druid curse,
But who would go down to the crypt alone,
Or think to disturb the altar stone?

29 June 2009

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Demon Of The Study

The Brownie sits in the Scotchman's room,
And eats his meat and drinks his ale,
And beats the maid with her unused broom,
And the lazy lout with his idle flail;
But he sweeps the floor and threshes the corn,
And hies him away ere the break of dawn.

The shade of Denmark fled from the sun,
And the Cocklane ghost from the barn-loft cheer,
The fiend of Faust was a faithful one,
Agrippa's demon wrought in fear,
And the devil of Martin Luther sat
By the stout monk's side in social chat.

The Old Man of the Sea, on the neck of him
Who seven times crossed the deep,
Twined closely each lean and withered limb,
Like the nightmare in one's sleep.
But he drank of the wine, and Sindbad cast
The evil weight from his back at last.

But the demon that cometh day by day
To my quiet room and fireside nook,
Where the casement light falls dim and gray
On faded painting and ancient book,
Is a sorrier one than any whose names
Are chronicled well by good King James.

No bearer of burdens like Caliban,
No runner of errands like Ariel,
He comes in the shape of a fat old man,
Without rap of knuckle or pull of bell;
And whence he comes, or whither he goes,
I know as I do of the wind which blows.

A stout old man with a greasy hat
Slouched heavily down to his dark, red nose,
And two gray eyes enveloped in fat,
Looking through glasses with iron bows.
Read ye, and heed ye, and ye who can,
Guard well your doors from that old man!

He comes with a careless 'How d' ye do?'
And seats himself in my elbow-chair;
And my morning paper and pamphlet new
Fall forthwith under his special care,
And he wipes his glasses and clears his throat,
And, button by button, unfolds his coat.

And then he reads from paper and book,
In a low and husky asthmatic tone,
With the stolid sameness of posture and look
Of one who reads to himself alone;
And hour after hour on my senses come
That husky wheeze and that dolorous hum.

The price of stocks, the auction sales,
The poet's song and the lover's glee,
The horrible murders, the seaboard gales,
The marriage list, and the jeu d'esprit,
All reach my ear in the self-same tone,-
I shudder at each, but the fiend reads on!

Oh, sweet as the lapse of water at noon
O'er the mossy roots of some forest tree,
The sigh of the wind in the woods of June,
Or sound of flutes o'er a moonlight sea,
Or the low soft music, perchance, which seems
To float through the slumbering singer's dreams,

So sweet, so dear is the silvery tone,
Of her in whose features I sometimes look,
As I sit at eve by her side alone,
And we read by turns, from the self-same book,
Some tale perhaps of the olden time,
Some lover's romance or quaint old rhyme.

Then when the story is one of woe,-
Some prisoner's plaint through his dungeon-bar,
Her blue eye glistens with tears, and low
Her voice sinks down like a moan afar;
And I seem to hear that prisoner's wail,
And his face looks on me worn and pale.

And when she reads some merrier song,
Her voice is glad as an April bird's,
And when the tale is of war and wrong,
A trumpet's summons is in her words,
And the rush of the hosts I seem to hear,
And see the tossing of plume and spear!

Oh, pity me then, when, day by day,
The stout fiend darkens my parlor door;
And reads me perchance the self-same lay
Which melted in music, the night before,
From lips as the lips of Hylas sweet,
And moved like twin roses which zephyrs meet!

I cross my floor with a nervous tread,
I whistle and laugh and sing and shout,
I flourish my cane above his head,
And stir up the fire to roast him out;
I topple the chairs, and drum on the pane,
And press my hands on my ears, in vain!

I've studied Glanville and James the wise,
And wizard black-letter tomes which treat
Of demons of every name and size
Which a Christian man is presumed to meet,
But never a hint and never a line
Can I find of a reading fiend like mine.

I've crossed the Psalter with Brady and Tate,
And laid the Primer above them all,
I've nailed a horseshoe over the grate,
And hung a wig to my parlor wall
Once worn by a learned Judge, they say,
At Salem court in the witchcraft day!

'Conjuro te, sceleratissime,
Abire ad tuum locum!'-still
Like a visible nightmare he sits by me,-
The exorcism has lost its skill;
And I hear again in my haunted room
The husky wheeze and the dolorous hum!

Ah! commend me to Mary Magdalen
With her sevenfold plagues, to the wandering Jew,
To the terrors which haunted Orestes when
The furies his midnight curtains drew,
But charm him off, ye who charm him can,
That reading demon, that fat old man!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

We also never undercut representatives' prices. A representative will always be able to sell the discounts in our core business, which are not offered at retail. So it's never more advantageous to buy there.

quote by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Night That My Angel Cried

I remember the night that my angel cried
So much
Because of the bad weather
That stopped him from going out
To rescue a woman that was buried in the snow

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

In The Arms Of My Angel

I'm in the arms of my angel being lifted high in the sky.
my angel won't release me i'm being held really tight.
when i get to where i'm going i will be sat down very gently.
a gentle wave, a great big smile, my angel will softly say
goodbye.
being held in my angels arms i'm as happy as can be
knowing that i'm extremely safe when my angel has ahold
of me.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Sing Softly the Songs of Your Angel

Sing softly the songs of Your angel
Let Your angel let you sleep
For Your angel, in her wisdom
has begun her angel’s song.

Sing softly song’s of Your angel.
It holds the angel’s power
It lets the angel let You laugh
It lets the angel make You cry

Sing softly songs of Your angel
In your angel You must trust.
Your angel only cares for You.
Your angel won’t let anyone hurt You.

WHEN YOU ARE LONELY
JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES.
SING SOFTLY SONGS OF YOUR ANGEL
YOUR ANGEL IS WITH YOU

Sing softly the songs of Your angel
Let Your angel let You sleep
For Your angel, in her wisdom
has begun her angel’s song.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

By The Light of an Angel

An Angel stands out in a crowd,
My heart sings out loud,
An Angel leaves behind a trail of clouds,
Just as your love makes me proud,

Everywhere you leave a sign,
Is it your time to be mine?
Waiting for your head to turn,
So my love can burn,

An Angel's grace lights your face,
Your love's strength leaves a trace,
Across my life a vision,
A vision so grand,
I can feel your heartbeat in my hand,

In the light of a candle I see you smile,
Can we be together for a while?
In your eyes I see my truth,
In my heart I feel your faith,

You will see me by the light of an Angel,
A reflection of love's perfection,
Together we will see a vision of heaven,
A heaven's love we hold in our hearts,
And love is a great place to start!

I will follow you now,
Wipe the stress from your brow,
I will embrace your pain,
And as one we shall remain!

07 June 2012

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches