The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...
All the truth
is hidden in the moments of a bird silence...
Your unsheathed thorns and
my laceration are why...
Clouds split where we touch,
Everlasting sprinkles shine...
Life is a guitarist
who has never owned a guitar...
In the rainbow boxes of preference,
they each are...
My father's anniversary:
((there was a swan pond in our way to the hospital...
When I write something
I make sure that I'm written...
Before the game of gamble, starts
it is already paid for...
Thus, whispered an hourglass in my ears:
No rock would ever survive the onslaught of time...
Whatever starts must
also end. Whatever ends...
Stretching our branches
to the prospect horizons...