ajournalcalledlife blogspot.com

A Journal Called Life

A Journal Called Life. Monday, July 21, 2014. My own glistening eyes I see. In a thousand reflections. On the remnant pieces. Of my favorite glass vase. May be, the cracks. Were always a part of it. Inherent , incomprehensibly subtle or invisible. From my rose tinted fools paradise. Blood flows through my cracked fingers. As I try to pick up the fragments. One by one , each hurting me anew. Leaving yet another scar . With a broad sweep ,. I want to shove them away. The many scattered glass daggers. She w.
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Thursday, March 14, 2013. Sometimes we get soo bussy in life. , with our everyday obligations and duties and work. , that we never get time to do those things that we really like doing best. So there has to be changes made. What we all need is a CHILL PILL once in a while. I wonder if they really make something like that. Friday, October 26, 2012. 8211; I thought I could just.

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A Quest on Overdrive . An eccentric rambler on lifes lessons and mercies, found and lost

Haiku, Tanka and Jorio. All the time, keeping count,. Lest they mire, suck. So that we tell ourselves.

A Ravishing Voyage.

Tuesday, 10 March 2015. Gluing The Broken Pieces Together.

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A Journal Called Life

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A Journal Called Life. Monday, July 21, 2014. My own glistening eyes I see. In a thousand reflections. On the remnant pieces. Of my favorite glass vase. May be, the cracks. Were always a part of it. Inherent , incomprehensibly subtle or invisible. From my rose tinted fools paradise. Blood flows through my cracked fingers. As I try to pick up the fragments. One by one , each hurting me anew. Leaving yet another scar . With a broad sweep ,. I want to shove them away. The many scattered glass daggers. She w.

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This web page ajournalcalledlife.blogspot.com states the following, "Monday, July 21, 2014." We saw that the webpage said " My own glistening eyes I see." It also said " Of my favorite glass vase. May be, the cracks. Were always a part of it. Inherent , incomprehensibly subtle or invisible. From my rose tinted fools paradise. Blood flows through my cracked fingers. As I try to pick up the fragments. One by one , each hurting me anew. Leaving yet another scar . With a broad sweep ,. I want to shove them away. The many scattered glass daggers."

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