push_king

A bright new day
May
In love on the beach
Both and each

No regrets
No smoke, no sigarettes
Pure weed
Pure breed

Far from the past
The past never lasts
The future is near
Its steps I can hear

And when the sorrow will vanish
Like doves, to the Sun
I might even publish
My unpolished rhymes

Given the extent of our relationship
I must proclaim
You represent the highest idea of mothership
I have betrayed

Your spirituality is fortified by your beauty
Which is sublime
No matter how much stress I posess
You will be mine

In the unity of actions
In the common feeling
Lies the spirit, don't be leaving

Negativity on "paper" leaves a lot of room for offline positivity.

In the times of turmoil
I am spoiled
No reconciliation, no creation
Just pains, brains
Broken brakes

And there is no tomorrow
Like there was no yesterday
All the negativity I bestow
Continues through March, April, May

No! - there must be light
The hope is strong and bright
Just a little bit longer
Until I get fitter and stronger

Stop all these games and forgive
Gratitude must come and never leave
Because you know I love you so much
The engine is running - but there is no clutch

Even if Bush finds Osama
К нему не спустится небесная манна
He will still cry overnight "mama, mama!"
Потому что обречен, без устава

He might find himself trapped in joy
Overreact, and betray Troy
Как гунн, или как папа твой
Ты, Джордж, не прав, не святой

Once upon a time
I flied, and I cried, and I died
No matter why

That day came the answer
In a beautiful form
It said: "I can help you
If you wish to convert"

Like every good poet
I felt stairs coming down
A rainbow of flowers
In a land without dawn

This lasted a lifetime
Or a couple of months
The point that I’m making
It has finished at once

My God isn’t grown
My angels don’t fly
So how come the beauty
Have stayed when I died?

I guess there is meaning that few of us know
I often have wished I had never been grown
The laws of attraction, the spirit of love
It all must resume if we are to find God

I’m starting this journal as a part of a plan
New life will be coming under Pushkin’s good rhyme
Creation resembles the tale of a dove
In the end, I feel loved