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This diary entry is written by ‹Nicolle;;Til we see the sunlight›. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: Nicolle;; in category (general)

Writing--Category: (general)
Monday, 30 March 2009
05:43:08 PM (GMT)
You Can't Write A Poem about Roses
Mid-Afternoon. The Summer heat dissolves 
within the storm of the shade
caused by buildings.

I walk on the sidewalk, listening to the 
sounds of birds churping overhead, children 
laughing, and fire hydraights explode the water
they hold.

Step by step, the group splashes me with cool
air. I pass by a garbage can, erupting like a 
volcano. I notice right next to it, a little 
red star shinning in the pile of garbage.

It's color was as bright as the sun.
It's petals as soft as skin.

My face lights up in happiness, as I
start Walking again.

I'm glad I live somewhere where nature 
beautifies the ugliest of things.

‹AudioWhore› says:   30 March 2009   796354  
sexy beast
‹Nicolle;;Til we see the sunlight› says:   30 March 2009   677677  
your random
‹AudioWhore› says:   30 March 2009   447751  
you're SEXY
‹Nicolle;;Til we see the sunlight› says :   30 March 2009   448871  
am not :B


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