XVIII, by Sumit Singh Subscribe to rss feed for Sumit Singh

oh my baby child
 my lump of chalk
my friction of black
 what have you done
to make you come
 from no where
from the cradle of black god
 to the lives of gray brain
with regretable future
 with forgetable past
of uncertain present
 and you're smiling, with
innocense and style
Posted: 2005-10-06 10:24:08 UTC

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