Angels dont cry

Page 1

TOPPLE OVER BROKEN BRIDGE He survived multiple open-heart surgeries, died many times & revived to tell of heaven. Half a heart he made babies write poetry of broken cities, dried water beds he found opportunities on deserted waste land. With dried tears he built a monument through the kinder side of sad strangers whose soul crawl on torso in war torn miles. Time is precious, ears cocked by the telephone pole he reflect on blunted dreams, wrecked and rusted. Propelling him to dance on oil spill seas -lace with dismay. No shoes. He learn to laugh at himself, cry over dead heroes sniff and swallow much pain of being immigrant‘s son


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Angels dont cry by janet - Issuu