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Continue reading →: The Curse Of The Vivid Imagination
A violin plays in the background Recalling a snowy dayLike all days of snow It’s quiet nothing to sayLate day bending sunReminder of days gone byMy grandmother’s houseNo need to replyThe linger of soil and pine A breeze nudges the treeThe forest awakens It’s imagination you are free
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Continue reading →: Your Last Dime
Calling collectnobody answersAnd the phonedevours the Last dime.And you startWalking home.
Hello,
I’m Mark
His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.
A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.
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