Artist The brushstrokes of life carefully laid upon the splattered page. The brush paints, as if creating the world. The artist forms the building blocks for our civilization. Only to be torn apart.
A nervous rush sprints through my belly waking the butterflies, three years old and I am at my first day of school.
Summer heat is Everywhere Until suddenly You feel a breeze Leaves begin to fall Until the trees are bare Then it is winter.
PS: the magic page that will always jump you to the latest poem is "http://www.saintannsny.org/depart/computer/poems.html"