Related quotes: wow, im sick of doubt...

The Severed Garden (Adagio)

wow, im sick of doubt
live in the light of certain south, cruel bindings
the servants have the power
dogmen and their mean women
pulling poor blankets over our assailers
i'm sick of dour faces staring at me from the tv tower
i want roses in my garden bower, dig?
royal babies, rubies, must now replace aborted strangers in the mud
these mutants blood meal for the plant that's ploughed
they are waiting to take us into the severed garden
you know how pale and wanton, thrillful comes death
in the strange hour
unannounced, unplanned for
like a scary over-friendly guest you've brought to bed
death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as ravens' claws
no more money, no more fancy dress
this other kingdom seems by far the best
until its other jaw reveals incest
and loose obedience to a vegetable law
i will not go
prefer a feast of friends to the giant family

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

An American Prayer/ Hour For Magic/ Freedom Exists/ A Feast Of Friends

Do you know the warm progress
Under the stars?
Do you know we exist?
Have you forgotten the keys
To the kingdom
Have you been borne yet
& are you alive?
Lets reinvent the gods,
All the myths of the ages
Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests
[have you forgotten the lessons
Of the ancient war]
We need great golden copulations
The fathers are cackling in trees
Of the forest
Our mother is dead in the sea
Do you know we are being led to
Slaughters by placid admirals
& that fat slow generals are getting
Obscene on young blood
Do you know we are ruled by t.v.
The moon is dry blood beast
Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers
In the next block of green vine
Amassing for warfare on innocent
Herdsman who are just dying
O great creator of being
Grant us one more hour to
Perform our art
& perfect our lives
The moths & atheists are doubly divine
& dying
We live, we die
& death not ends it
Journey we more into
The nightmare
Cling to life
Our passiond flower
Cling to cunts & cocks
Of despair
We got our final vision
By clap
Columbus groin got
Filled with green death
(I touched her thigh & death smiled)
We have assembled inside this ancient
& insane theatre
To propagate our lust for life
Flee the swarming wisdom
Of the streets
The barns are stormed
The windows kept
& only one of all the rest
To dance & save us
With the divine mockery
Of words
Music inflames temperament
(when the true kings murderers
Are allowed to roam free
A 1000 magicians arise in the land)
Where are the feasts
We are promised
Where is the wine
The new wine
(dying on the vine)
Resident mockery
Give us an hour for magic
We of the purple glove
We of the starling flight
& velvet hour
We of arabic pleasuress breed
We of sundome & the night
Give us a creed
To believe
A night of lust
Give us trust in
The night
Give of color
Hundred hues
A rich mandala
For me & for you
& for your silky
Pillowed house
A head, wisdom
& a bed
Troubled decree
Resident mockery
Has claimed thee
We used to believe
In the good old days
We still receive
In little ways
The things of kindness
& unsporting brow
Forget & allow
Did you know freedom exists
In school books
Did you know madmen are
Running our prisons
Within a jail, within a gaol
Within a white free protestant
Maelstrom
Were perched headlong
On the edge of boredom
Were reaching for death
On the end of a candle
Were trying for something
Thats already found us
Wow, Im sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
Cruel bindings
The sevants have the power
Dog-men & their mean women
Pulling poor blankets over
Our sailors
Im sick of dour faces
Starong at me from the t.v.
Tower, I want roses in
My garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
Must now replace aborted
Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal
For the plant thats plowed
They are waiting to take us into
The severed garden
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
Comes death on a stranger hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest youve
Brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings
Where we had shoulders
Smooth as ravens claws
No more money, no more fancy dress
This other kingdom seems by far the best
Until its other jaw reveals incest
& loose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go
Prefer a feast of friends
To the giant family

song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

quote by Jim Morrison
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

A Beautiful Thing

A beautiful thing
Is the life that God gave to us
A beautiful thing is the men like us
Because God create the men
To get married and have an also to have children
Together with his wife that he decides to marry and live the rest of his life With
A beautiful thing
Is the music that singers gave to me so that I can have a better life
Why?
Because singers are people just like me
And their music heals me and othe people
A beautiful thing for the ones that are sick for a long time
Is death
Because when death arrives to the ones that are sick they don't suffer Anymore
But it is not worth to live life when the ones that are sick are sick
Because it is a constant worry about who will take care of the ones that are Sick
And also their are constant worries if the one that os sick have any kids
Because they have to think of who will take care of their kids when they Will die
And I don't doubt for a moment that they won't miss their loved one if it is their mother or their father
Why?
Because the one that is sickis their mother
And you raised them from birth to grown up
And what is next?
I can't say what is next because I don't live their lives
And I will worry about my life
And nobody else's life
Because all the dreams that I am having now belongs to my life
Why do I talk so much about life now?
Because I am thinking about life now
And I am enjoying every second in my life
Because every second in my life counts because the hour keeps passing
And I keep enjoying it
A beautiful thing is that I am one adult
And that I can do things that pleases me with limitations
A beautiful thing is that I am the captain of God's ship
But I am also the master of God's soul
And God is the master of my destiny
But where my destiny will end I don't know
Because only God knows where my destiny will end
A beautil thing is the rain
Because it comes down from the sky and water our garden that is Outside of our houses
A beautiful thing is the soap that removes the dirt from my body and Makes it clean
A beautiful thing is the clothes that keeps my body dressed all day

poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Am Sick......

i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....

revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Death is... A Compilation of Death Poetry

(10/05/2000)

Death is when your loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain to the heart

Death is a feeling of permanent sadness & pain
Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away

Death is a call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell

Death is a lesson to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is an unhappy feeling to have
Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf

Death is something we all will go through
Death is a storm waiting to brew

Death is a lingering crow always overhead
Death is a soul, done being fed

Death is cruel,
Death is unfair,
Why death?
Does death care?

Death is unkind,
Death breaks hearts,
Why death?
Do you like to part?

Death is here,
Death is there,
Why death?
Why be everywhere?

Death is the end,
Death is to die,
Why death?
To make people cry?

Death was created,
Death is still here,
Why death?
We live in fear,

Death is death,
Death is dead,
Why death?
Because death said.

Death is forever, so don’t flirt with death
Death is painful, so stay away from knifes
Death is not for lovers, so don’t die
Death is not for me, so don’t even try

Death is never clear, so be careful
Death is never fun, so stay away from strangers
Death is never pleasing, so don’t get caught up in the hype
Death is never fair, so get use to it
Death is always occurring, so don’t forget it

Death is never what u expect, so expect the unexpected
Death is not for you, so please don’t give up
Death is forever, so don’t forget that

poem by Shenise Ashmeade
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sick of Being Sick

I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !

poem by Shelby Brockway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Garden in my inner square

I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.

I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Carrot & Stick

So, Greece is out of money?
It'd make you sick,
It makes me sick.
Now Germany is supposed to pay
For the rich man's honey?
It'd make you sick,
It makes me sick.
The rich men get the carrots,
The poor men get the stick!
It makes me sick!

poem by Neil Milliner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

on This Special Christmas

How do you celebrate Christmas?
Buy a new dress....
Buy a new shoes....
Go to Church....
Having party in the garden
Cooking with your spouse
on the night before Christmas

Then, after that what
Do you feel happy?
Do you feel fun?
Do you think of the poor family on the street?
Can not celebrate any of the holidays
Everyday for them just hope
Holiday is just the same with other day
Can you imagine people who is sick?
People who need wheelchair to go
but do not have money to buy

It's fine to have a Christmas party
It's fine to buy many new things and gifts
But, can we try to give charity
Buy a wheelchair for one sick and poor people
It's a Christmas moment
It's a Christmas with a valuable meaning
Smile when this Christmas come

poem by New Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Message From Eid 3id

What is Eid 3id
Its about Forgeting your greed!
Get up off your feet

What is Eid 3id
give up your feast
Share your sweets with those crying begging in the streets
Go, wipe the tears of those children in need

What is Eid.3id
Take a walk visit the sick, poor and the old
Pray for the sick, feed the poor, keep the old warm
away from the cold

Im EID 3id, i'll be with you soon
The children, the sick, poor and the old
Every day they spend without a smile, is a lost day
If you have money, give to the poor
If you don't have money, go visit the sick give them hope
If you don't have money, with one touch you can take away the loneliness from the old and show them that you care
Let them Wear a smile as you know one size fits all
If you do this, Everyone will smile in the same language

Im Eid 3id
how beautiful to see a mother's face light up with a smile because her child is having something to eat, it shouldn't be like this we all diserve to smile in the same language

This Eid.3id
i will share with them what i have, and if they don't have a smile, I'll give them one of mine

Only then i can feel complete

On the day of EID 3id

poem by Salma. Torrez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Am Sick....

I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.

poem by Winifred Harkness
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Margaret's Bridal Eve

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness
And the bird sings over the roses.

My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.

He died on my shoulder the third cold night:
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight:
And the bird sings over the roses.

But when I came by my father's door:
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.

III

The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I must speak to him under this roof to-night:
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I will stab my honour under his eye:
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

An hour before the chilly beam:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and there espied:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and let her in:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She looked so white, she looked so sweet:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He fell at her feet with love and awe:
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am not led by the angels about:
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am no saint, and no bride can I be:
Red rose and while in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee:
And the bird sings over the roses.

To catch at her heart she laid one hand:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak:
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray:
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.

poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Our Marriage Is Our Garden

Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

So Sick

im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?

poem by Ricky Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Im sick

poem by Malorie Genoff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

It's Death Again

It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'

The Reign of Death

Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Women - the bad ones

Women are like cats
so pretty and devious all in the same way.
When they want something they'll come a purring.
All want to be fussed over like with Daddy.

I used to bend over backwards to help women
Now I don't give a shit.
I used to respect them but all of its waste of time.
Used to buy a drink
Now they drink it and run off to next poor sucker.
But now some motherf****r is getting them back
spiking their drinks and having their way.

I am not as sick as them.
I just tired of being stabbed in the heart.
Once bitten, twice shy.
A saying so true.
Now women just make me blue.

When I had money, they'd line up to get some.
Got tired of golddiggers and whores
Its left me with a bad taste.
Loving someone - not worth it.
Love is bullshit.
Can't find anyway to love me for who I am.
The only woman who is genuine
was the one who brought me to life.

I can't spare time or effort on today's women
they are a waste of time.
If you want respect,
your earn it otherwise go wallow in your own bullshit.

My own company is better.
I have waste my money on shoes or makeup
I just wish you would fucking shut up.
You women you cry for equality
But even good guys like me are sick to death.
Of your campaign.

God may have us equal
But i dont see that now.
I feel nothing for women
I'm all dried out.

poem by Ibrar Siddiqi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sick and Tired

Im sick and tired of the lies you told me.
Sick and tired of what you want me to be.
Sick and tired of the way we live.
Sick and tired Im in such a dread.
Sick and tired I want to go to sleep.
Yea so sick and tired it makes me weak.
Sick and tired dont wanna be me.
Sick and tired of no harmony.

Day aftrer day you just come out and say...
'Tomorrow will be a better day'
Well Im sick and tired of that over used phrase.
So sick and tired of the way you dont change.
Sick and tired I wanna go home.
Oh so sick and tired dont know where I belong.
Sick and tired of not getting along.
So sick and tired, thats it, Im gone.

poem by Ebony Tesfay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Garden

The world is sadly sick, they say,
And plagued by woe and pain.
But look! How looms my garden gay,
With blooms in golden reign!
With lyric music in the air,
Of joy fulfilled in song,
I can't believe that anywhere
Is hate and harm and wrong.

A paradise my garden is,
And there my day is spent;
A steep myself in sunny bliss,
Incredibly content.
Feeling that I am truly part
Of peace so rapt and still,
There's not a care within my heart . . .
How can the world be ill?

Aye, though the land be sick they say,
And named unto pain,
My garden never was so gay,
So innocent, so sane.
My roses mock at misery,
My thrushes vie in song . . .
When only beauty I can see,
How can the world be wrong?

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

En.Citatepedia®.ro

The Severed Garden (Adagio)

Related quotes

A Feast Of Friends

An American Prayer/ Hour For Magic/ Freedom Exists/ A Feast Of Friends

A Beautiful Thing

I Am Sick......

Death is... A Compilation of Death Poetry

Sick of Being Sick

Garden in my inner square

Carrot & Stick

on This Special Christmas

Message From Eid 3id

I Am Sick....

Margaret's Bridal Eve

Our Marriage Is Our Garden

So Sick

Im sick

It's Death Again

Women - the bad ones

Sick and Tired

My Garden

En.Citatepedia^®.ro