Faoma Oska by

THE PICTURE

brinemm1 — 2013-07-03 23:09:11 UTC

a clock for how little time we have until every bomb we manufacture in our head goes off and tears us down.

For how long the sad moments take and how short the happy ones are. A watch to remind us to watch the time but that our main goal should be to give, receive, and have fun.

THE BACKROUND

brinemm1 — 2013-07-03 23:15:00 UTC

We can fly, the only thing we need to do is cut the string and soar over the cliff's edges. The only thing we need to do is trust our wings will catch us.

POEM DESCRIPTION

brinemm1 — 2013-07-03 23:32:44 UTC

Many ways people show their soul. A poem, unlike most things placed inside themselves, most blunt.

Simple, elegant, but bursting to any extent.

FORGETTABLE (song)

brinemm1 — 2013-07-04 00:06:56 UTC

The disappearing room is just a tomb for all the shadows, They materialize themselves but no one knows no ones knows, the concrete melts away in time and pictures of it burn to the ground.

Because they are forgettable. Because no one care what happens to the past. And all the hearts are forgettable. And what you don't know won't miss you now it's gone. And what 'cha don't know don't mean a thing to you. It's point-less and foregettable -not true!

TROUBLES

brinemm1 — 2013-07-08 14:58:48 UTC

Why are some of the best things in life so hard to get to, so hard to retrieve?

POEM

brinemm1 — 2013-07-08 15:26:29 UTC

The crazy are great so they are crazy, the great are crazy so they are great.

WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND

brinemm1 — 2013-08-11 16:35:49 UTC

Who has seen the wind neither I nor you nor you nor I but when the trees bow down their heads the wind is passing through.

-Christina Georgina Rossetti (bk. 2 pg.62 #of vrs.2)