And maybe I'll bring back an Italian man...
Ciao!
P.S. One reason I haven't been on dA for so long is that I honestly didn't have anything worth contributing to the art commuity. When I come back from Florence, on May 1st...we'll see what happens...


You AskedYou asked me to write a poem to show my identity, To inscribe upon this parchment my patterns of personality, To manifest into words the feeling of my presence, Specifically demanding for poetic words of elegance; A silver platter with which upon it drips my wholesome heart, So that it can be compared to others as a work of art, Perhaps it was a Gods hands that sculpted my existence, And I honor his creation but to him seek indifference; Yours and mine perceptions have no intrinsic value, I stay true to myself as you do unto you, To you I present a daily face but you wontYou Asked


The Lying Lore of LoveStop deceiving the youth with ideals of love; It grips at your throat with a black cotton glove.The Lying Lore of Love
The cliché statement that it troubles your heart, Is false since it doesnt really rip you apart.
Instead, it leaves you wholesome and pure, But continually diseases you with which there is no cure.
Some say time gives you room to understand, Why it was so hard to simply ask for her hand.
It is not so much your being that is affected, But your inner meaning that is resurrected.
Yes, it has to die, and be born


The ForsakingA t.v. replaces his empty throne, Only so we dont feel alone, His desk grows dusty, Old tools get rusty, And books stand waiting, longing to be known.The Forsaking
My brothers wept profusely by his side, As I stepped back with a faltering stride, And as I observed, Thinking this was absurd, I witnessed the deflated family pride.
We are a floundering family, with the captain dead, And despite my sorrow only one tear have I shed, In this life, Of perilous strife, I have no more faith in entities overhead.


Laughter, LaughterOnce I heard laughing outside my bedroom window, Laughing outside my bedroom window,Laughter, Laughter
Which made me open my eyes wide in fear I saw no one.
Once I heard that same laughing at a friends house, Laughing outside her bedroom window, Which made me think I was being followed She heard nothing.
Once I set my ring tone to the sound of someone laughing, It was the sound of someone laughing, And I could hear my phone ringing No one was calling.
I can still hear laughing.
--
William Faulkner: "The past is never dead; it's not even past."
--
There is nothing that a nonconformist hates more than another nonconformist who doesn't conform to the existing standards of nonconformity.
--
William Faulkner: "The past is never dead; it's not even past."
--
... but I forgot my pen!
---
~maynard-fans
--
There is nothing that a nonconformist hates more than another nonconformist who doesn't conform to the existing standards of nonconformity.
--
... but I forgot my pen!
---
~maynard-fans
--
--
There is nothing that a nonconformist hates more than another nonconformist who doesn't conform to the existing standards of nonconformity.
--
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