A poem
This is the story of a Commander who flew spitfires in World War II, as an elderly man…
Tension clings to every sinew
When the creator made Earth
Here lies the remains. Something that would have worked if…
Roots planted in forever. Reaching far beyond the surface; reaching a new frame of thinking, which branched endless possibilities.
You’re a bag full of excuses, filled to the brim
He lives in memory while she remains in fantasy.
