Where do the angels sing?
Is it on the asphalt of the road?
Is it on the rays of suns that sting?
What thou voice is bringing in the sky to sing?
Some compliments so broad?
Or the reputation I am dealing that sting?
When will I be able to hear myself sing?
When the voice I have suddenly unload?
When will I able to stop this sting?
Who'm should I call to sing?
Some lovely sugarcoated her mouth hold?
Until my ear bleeds, eyes sting
I'm aching an offering from someone to sing
Now I'm unable to decipher my own code
My food is their songs making my throat sting
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
