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If there is a sense of reality, there must also be a sense of possibility.

quote by Robert Musil
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The Believer's Principles : Chap. IV.

Faith and Sense Natural, compared and distinguished.

When Abram's body, Sarah's womb,
Were ripe for nothing but the tomb,
Exceeding old, and wholly dead,
Unlike to bear the promis'd seed:

Faith said, 'I shall an Isaac see;'
'No, no,' said Sense, 'it cannot be;'
Blind Reason, to augment the strife,
Adds, 'How can death engender life?'

My heart is like a rotten tomb,
More dead than ever Sarah's womb;
O! can the promis'd seed of grace
Spring forth from such a barren place?

Sense gazing but on flinty rocks,
My hope and expectation chokes:
But could I, skill'd in Abram's art,
O'erlook my dead and barren heart;

And build my hope on nothing less
That divine pow'r and faithfulness;
Soon would I find him raise up sons
To Abram, out of rocks and stones.

Faith acts as busy boatmen do,
Who backward look and forward row;
It looks intent to things unseen,
Thinks objects visible too mean.

Sense thinks it madness thus to steer,
And only trusts its eye and ear;
Into faith's boat dare thrust its oar,
And put it further from the shore.

Faith does alone the promise eye;
Sense won't believe unless it see;
Nor can it trust the divine guide,
Unless it have both wind and tide.

Faith thinks the promise sure and good;
Sense doth depend on likelihood;
Faith ev'n in storms believes the seers;
Sense calls all men, ev'n prophets, liars.

Faith uses means, but rests on none;
Sense sails when outward means are gone:

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Erskine
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Its A Possibility

This song was first released on the one world album. it is the only album it has been released on.
For all the times that youve wondered why
The world turned out this way
And all of the times that youve asked yourself
About the games that people play
About the politics of hunger
And the politics of need
How the politics of power
Seem to be the politics of greed
For all of the times that youve struggled in an effort
To work your way back upstream
And all of the times youve held on to it
When most of us had lost the dream
And for all of the ones who have walked with you
By your side or way back home
Maybe much more than any of us
You know that no one is really alone
Because the heart is still a hunter
Its like a beacon in the night
And though the heart is just a lover
Its never afraid to fight
We are fighting for more than survival
We are working for more than peace
We are giving ourselves to each other
Making sure all injustice is will someday cease
You can take a look around you
And you can see how far weve come
All the separate parts
All the hundreds of hearts
That are beating together as one
Its a possibility
For many tomorrows
Its a possibility
Of a world to be made for everyone
Its a possibility
No more suffering and sorrow
Its a possibility
Its in everyone
Its a possibility
For many tomorrows
Its a possibility
Of a world to be made for everyone
Its a possibility
No more suffering and no more sorrow
Its a possibility
Its in everyone
Words and music by john denver

song performed by John Denver
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Edge Of Reality

(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
I walk along a thin line darling
Dark shadows follow me
Heres where lifes dream lies disillusioned
The edge of reality
Oh I can hear strange voices echo
Laughing with mockery
The border line of doom Im facing
The edge of reality
On the edge of reality she sits there tormenting me
The girl with the nameless face
On the edge of reality where she overpowers me
With fears that I cant explain
She drove me to the point of madness
The brink of misery
If shes not real then Im condemned to
The edge of reality
On the edge of reality she sits there tormenting me
The girl with the nameless face
On the edge of reality where she overpowers me
With fears that I cant explain
She drove me to the point of madness
The brink of misery
If shes not real then Im condemned to
The edge of reality
Reality, reality, reality, reality,
Reality, reality, reality, reality

song performed by Elvis Presley
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It Makes More Sense

It makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.

It makes more sense,
To walk away than to be petty.
And it makes more sense,
To prevent a thumping headache.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Many fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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Reality's Dream

I staggered back from the blow;
Reality struck me again
this time harder
mocking me as I fell.

'You have always been so clear about
your plans and goals haven't you;
clear about what you wanted to achieve or know
how you would overcome all obstacles
but Pilgrim you had no plan B;
I always grant people like you
first place in my line
because you all are Prisoners Of Your Own Dreams and Schemes
hurtling through life 'Dreamers of the Impossible Dream'
Perfection's Confection blinds you by its own light-
wouldn't you agree? '

I gradually regained my feet and
stared into those unforgiving, taunting eyes
thinking strangely
that Reality is much like a bully.

'And hear you are now, ' Reality was saying
'alone
without family or friends
clutching to those dreams
which will never come true
being instead
here now
my prisoner
for all eternity

forced now to worship
at my altar.

He cackled a horrible cackle.

I looked at him in a haze
realizing he had a point
but too
that moment
exposed Reality's
own weaknesses:
he was counting upon my apathy-
my sense of defeat-
to make me surrender to him
believe in him and his power.

I rose
stared at him

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Reality (1st of Seven Secondary Virtues)

Poem Title: (Reality) 1st of Seven Secondary Virtues of a Happy Marriage

Poem 174 b …. Title : (Reality) 1st of Seven Secondary Virtues of a Happy Marriage.

Subject Reality...As a Human being.A creature that cuts down trees, then to pulp in a machine.
As an attempt to manufacture a cost effective way of transmitting News to all the World.
Most of which is of Climate Change and full of subjective slogans on how we must save the trees!

Real Reality..... How about this Poet? Who lives within a Fantasy of Trust whereby he allows
His Loving Partner to hold the sacred knowledge of the password to his private website.
And always knowing this, knew that anything that he did write could then be read in true Reality.

Hypo statical Reality ….As a Happy Marriage holds three levels of Hypo stasis in a given day.
Blood pressure rising or falling in anticipation as to the level of eggs that he be treading upon.
Metaphysically thinking and speaking in riddles or codes too, for all time to confuse an enemy.

Beyond the wit of Reality........ Any Happy Marriage is beholding three levels of wit.
The wit of knowing when to sleep with the wisest of wise tongues keeping the wisest of heads.
The wit of the pretence of reality and being wide wide wide awake too a Lovers every need.

The Fantasy of the Reality.....Of any Happy Marriage is the joint ability to understand difference.
Difference in attitude, Man to Woman, Woman to Man.Lie to Exaggeration, Exaggerative Lie.
Fantasy of the moment, of the drudgery of daily grinds or the reality of a magic carpet ride.

The Reality of a Happy Marriage is striving to achieve to score the winning Goal in allotted time.
Loosing score, playing two halves plus extra time and neither gaining upper hand through penalties
Real Subjective Reality, Hypo static God Head to prevail by use of Wit and Prose and Pure Fantasy!

(Written 13th July 2010) A Triversen at first attempt. Success or Failure (Time will tell)

poem by Philip Winchester
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Reality Sucks

O.k. maybe you know it better
Oh oh reality sucks
Nobody helps you to make it feel better
Oh oh reality sucks
And youre a dropout that stays away
Might be that evil took over
Oh oh reality sucks
Youre getting to old now
To cause a stampede
Oh oh reality sucks
So youre boozing your life away
Youre blown your brain away
Reality sucks
Oho reality sucks
Now you see your life has passed you by
Oh oh reality sucks
You took a shortcut
Through the junkyard of life
Maybe thats why reality sucks
Now youre boozing your life away
Blowing your head away
But dreams didnt make your day
cause reality sucks
Oh oh reality sucks
Reality sucks

song performed by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Because I Don't Confront You

Because I don't confront you
doesn't mean this tree
doesn't know how to stand up to the wind.
If I bend like a river reed in a current
I'll still be here
long after the current has passed.
To the unenlightened it's inconceivable
there's nothing to win
because both opposites are empty.
Take empty from empty it's still empty.
No reason to put a gun to your head to check it out.
Just because you've got a trigger
like the first crescent of the moon
doesn't mean you have to pull it.
Three for three.
Blood and cartridges.
Strange lipstick.
But you're still banking on the one that's empty.
Those that have the power to hurt
but will do none.
Shakespeare.
Sonnet 94.
Lonely advice to those who never take it.
And it's not hard to imagine
better things to do in the world
than trade barbs and stingers
with third world killer bees.
And there's nothing unholier than a holy war.
Or a faith that festers
because it doesn't know
how to clean a wound properly.
Even maggots make better nurses than that.
And besides
as unlikely as it seems at times
I'd rather be loved than right.
I don't want to lie down with a woman at night
like a body count.
You say I'm not in touch with reality
as if reality were some kind of guillotine
you expected me to stick my neck out for
swanning on the block.
No.
I don't stay in touch much
with French executioners.
But I can see the world as you see it.
A snakepit with the occasional apple-tree.
You think of reality as a hard medicine
you have to wince like a lemon to take
but if you ask me
the way you put it

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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Gotta Have You

Never been too much for watching
Cause theres too many things to view
And when eyes begin to wander
They more than likely never get through
But beyond my own temptation
Im enticed by what I see
And I wont feel satisfaction
Until shes where I want her to be
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
I gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Come on girl, make you my reality
Never been too much for talking
Cause theres too many things to say
And by the time that I start speaking
The right moment has slipped away
But I must break this old tradition
And try to muster up the words
And though someone else may have said them
Ill say them in way youve never heard
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Ive gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
Come on girl, make you my reality
Gotta be, gotta be, gotta be reality, baby
Gotta be, gotta be, gotta be reality, baby
(repeat)
Never been too much for touching
Cause theres too many things to feel
Plus theres too much disappointment
When you find out those feelings aint real
But heres a time when inner senses
Are gonna have to shine the light
Cause I have overly committed
Myself in thinking that youre alright
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see
I gotta make you my reality
I gotta have you, I gotta have you
I gotta have you for me
You are a sight for sore eyes to see

[...] Read more

song performed by Stevie Wonder
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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Manifesto [ORIGINAL & REVISED]

[REVISED]

Okay – I admit romance does not exist, at least
not in this quaint veracity which claims it has a
place somewhere but rarely ever here

I shall not cry about discovery of circumstance
that fact is non-existent in romance – reality a
chance one does not really have to see

Anyone can prove it lives eternally in dreams, a
never dying sustenance of many Worlds beliefs
with energies too dominant to ever die

If fantasy alive and well then I admit against my
better judgement I’ve been hurt; but add in haste
it does not matter since it truly breathes

In Worlds as infinite or parallel, I do not need the
proof of our reality – a mere perchance of it as
probability enough - the vastness of infinity

allows for every choice and dream or hope and
expectation to exist – I do not need accord to see
romance, or merely mention the ideal -

of fantasy, hopes, & dreams to make it true for me,
I shall avoid reality, live in dreams encompassing
imaginings I’ve always gladly had or harboured to

excess; therefore your attitude, and lack of feeling
means a blank to me; cannot kill the vision I shall
cherish from now on until eternity arrives…

[ORIGINAL]

Okay, I admit, romance does not exist – at least not
in this reality; but the fact that we can dream about
romance is proof it does exist somewhere

I shall not cry about my loss – discovering that
romance is non-existent – reality is only a mirage,
one parallel world amongst many – I do not need

Anyone to prove that romance lives on in our dreams,
nothing can kill it; no negative word, no pain, no dis-
illusionment, can kill the many worlds theory

Where fantasy is alive and well - I admit, against my

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Blooming 18

Reality reality reality is always
You tattooed yourself what a piece of art
Youve already broken your mothers heart
When I was your age working my ass off
Your generations soft
Reality is always such a drag
For barely blooming eighteens
The barely blooming eighteen
Wants to know
Whats keeping her from searching
You cannot pierce that and
Youre dressed too tight
Got a lot to learn about wrong and right
So dye you hair, dads gonna wash it out
Come on wash out your mouth
Reality is always such a drag
For barely blooming eighteens
The barely blooming eighteen
Wants to know
Whats hiding in the shadow
Reality reality reality is always
Reality is always...

song performed by Ace Of Base
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Stream Line Consciousness

Big brother voyeur blimps unidentified spies
uncle sam peeping toms patrolling skies
bird brain police intelligence
remote viewing homeland pest control
pentagon private eye monitoring the public's every move
mass produced micro chips intercepting prayers patrolling citizens from heaven
Bentham's Panopticon NSA
super computer surveillance cameras
world police spying Manhattan streets

'Athens plummets Euro death spiral
suicide rates soar deepening into despair'

haaretz..the post.. the times
blogs tribunes dailies all in a mad gab
headlong headline attention grabbing scramble

'Yugoslavia - Iraq - Egypt - Yemen - Iran - Syria - United States'
bilderberg building blocks New American Century post apocalyptic prophecy

'foreign mercenaries …national guard...DOD
homeland security to amass covert munitions stockpile
Americans on guard anxieties mounting surrounding
the stripping of amendments 1st if you swing to your left
2nd if you stand on the right
whispers of martial law circulate Anarchical reverberations
emanate from internet Alt culture epicenters
bottle necking global tensions'

'common feeling of deepening disappointment...
heightened expectations...
people expecting an explosive situation over the
next few weeks'

...riot police respond 'to preserve public order'
public roads barricaded to 'protect security of citizens'

'blatant act of censorship
western mainstream media staying away
from Myanmar massacres of Mohammedan Angels
further showing strong anti Muslim bias'

'Media blackout Burmese army
seeking coverage under propaganda blankets'

from the middle east throughout the western world
planet consciousness blurring lines between conspiracy/reality
conflicting global network narratives multiply violent scenarios daily
Victims in a world wide scramble
Government Banking Military

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Liberty is the possibility of doubting, the possibility of making a mistake, the possibility of searching and experimenting, the possibility of saying No to any authority--literary, artistic, philosophic, religious, social and even political.

Ignazio Silone in The God That Failed (1950)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Liberty is the possibility of doubting, the possibility of making a mistake, the possibility of searching and experimenting, the possibility of saying No to any authority - literary, artistic, philosophic, religious, social and even political.

quote by Ignazio Silone
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Higher Ground

This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the higher ground album, and has also been released on the john denver collection - rocky mountain high album.
There are those who can live
With the things they dont believe in
They are giving up their lives
For something that is less than it can be
Some have longed for a home
In a place of inspiration
Some will find the emptiness inside
By giving it all for the things that they believe
They believe
Maybe its just a dream in me
Maybe its just my style
Maybe its juat the freedom that Ive found
Given the possibility
Of living up to the dream in me
You know Ill be reaching for higher ground
I will stand on my own
I will live up to the vision
I will trust in what I feel
Id follow my heart until it brings me home
Brings me home
Maybe its just a dream in me
Maybe its just my style
Maybe its juat the freedom that Ive found
Given the possibility
Of living up to the dream in me
You know Ill be reaching for higher ground
Keep me through the night
Lead me to the light
Teach me the magic of wonder
Give me the spirit to fly
Maybe its just a dream in me
Maybe its just my style
Maybe its juat the freedom that Ive found
Given the possibility
Of living up to the dream in me
You know Ill be reaching for higher ground
Maybe its just a dream in me
Maybe its just my style
Maybe its juat the freedom that Ive found
Given the possibility
Of living up to the dream in me
You know Ill be reaching for higher ground
Music by john denver and lee holdridge, words by john denver and joe henry

song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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Art Of Possibility

From worry guess or logic result
From the best to the worst
Whether unspoken, whether unthinkable
Possibility always brings a little confusion

Count as risk, neglected to the side
The unknown area, the new symptom
Whether only small percent, whether strong indication
Possibility makes us aware

What if, what should be
What could be, what may be
An alternative universe, a probability game
Possibility keeps us wandering

If we secretly wish, if we struggle to work
Because the world's said, because constant lying
Our distant hope, our deepest fear
Possibility could turn into certainty

poem by Maria Sudibyo
Added by Poetry Lover
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