Discussion in 'Writers' Corner' started by MajorHaze, Oct 1, 2016.
Like The Title Of A Bad Novel:
Soaking up her joyful raysUsually with easeNever ever letting go.
That which is is ever presentthus begins in the inner dwellingflushed with pain in the momentever somber is the glowthat began long ago. Fortune says wait and seefor the truly blessed to be.Couldn't fly and fight or even crow.With wings so light they look like snow.( Maybe finished who knows, lost my concentration. )
So I broke out my guitar today and tuned her up and started picking. Only to notice that the bridge was broken. I don't know how that small plastic piece done got bent.
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