Master Stories

What happens when the puppet master dies?When there is no one else to pick up the strings.What becomes of us dear puppets?Now that nobody wants to play.As dust gathers upon our still frames,As termites, eat away at the forgotten stage,Will someone please...

christena

23 Apr 2012

Poetry is my religion

My poetry emanates from The Supreme Being God Poetic ink flows through my Veins And my heart is wrapped Like letters That has been written Permanent Poetry is like a compass That a pirate uses To find his treasure Poetry makes me yearn And reach for the h...