The Sun Doesn't Concern Herself,
The Sun doesn't concern herself,
with the other stars in the sky.
She is too busy lighting up the world.
More Posts from Tacoboy013 and Others
It's midnight. At midnight we do midnight type of shit.
Coffee thought.
Why aren't cookies called, Bakies? You don't cook them, you bake them.
Do you ever think that if a dog sees a seal sunbathing on the rocky shore he would think, "Holy shit! A mermaid!"?
My thoughts of her rise to the top,
like fizzy bubbles in my soda pop.
It just takes too much energy to keep you lit up little one. This is not sustainable, post renewable (Wait there's a poem here I think).
I went to see the palm reader today. She furrowed her brown, crinkled her nose and said, we all couldn't have been Joan of Arc. Sometimes it's our destiny to die in the dirt of the plague .
The flowers do listen, like butterfly kisses. Along the wispy road.
Their crowns to the air, those ne'er-do-wells. With colors brighty shown.
No petals are broken, no fragrance unspoken. Barefoot along the path.
They sip morning dew, in gowns with deep hues. Their toes along the bath.
Slowly they sway, the wind combs the days. Away with gentle brush.
Each one a sister, the truth they do whisper. But lower than a hush.
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