Metal and fruit is the nature, what problems is the industry consider that it’s a master peace. You know that adds, are paying off the country and that its cheaper to buy the pour portion. Pills, heat, electrified honest and good behave metal and fruit that even our lady Eve, couldn’t resist. Shall hang to myself by the neck Until I let myself pass to far, I pass myself up Now I’m scared to the bloody bone Curiosity was, first injected, with lovers calling it a theme Told me stories of pain And I’ll share you about a friend with no name Democracy was not the same when we share a band of revolutionary Someone is going to be counted out, shinning from up above. March of a campaign where we loose some of it’s inns, hearts and love Millions of pictures with tiny voices Are going to get you with choices Come up a board with Icicles bleed from war We intake engulfed ourselves for the love for each other. We make-believe and play zombies there’s only passing time with each other For now and forever, together were going to count and not stand behind the line in forever, well wind down Together forever all at once, I’ll lead this time, I’ll hold the hand till you learn how to climb. Millions of pictures with tiny voices Are going to get you with choices Come up a board with Icicles bleed from war Now its all going down hill with the tumble of the human flesh where bullets chasing your head Another mans Karma is a fluke to another’s spoke, modify the human extortion Pills, heat, electrified honest and good behave metal and fruit that even our lady eve, couldn’t resist. Bomb shell with a strap to my chest While I stretch the human capacity of window plane Now out of luck with an armor with the screams to the fullest A prodigy I’ve came to believe that a marvel is no different from me Fold me into reformatory And I’ll cut you loose from the noose that got you tangled Emperor to what is left of this country when shout out ambassador with an uproar Anyone want to volunteer for the mans dirty work and rip open We dance with the devil in Gods county where we loose some, charity and soul. Millions of pictures with tiny voices Are going to get you with choices Come up a board with Icicles bleed from war
http://www.originalpoetry.com/metal-and-fruit-life-distortion
“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by
the moments that take our breath away.”
I was fortunate enough to fly to Atlanta over the weekend with
my daughter, Cristina, who is eleven, to attend the wedding of
my former choir director from Miami. We were both so excited we
could hardly sleep the night before. The thought of seeing all
of our old Miami friends–as well as a dear family from Kentucky
who had since relocated to Atlanta–was almost more than we
could bear.
Saturday night I walked into the church as the harp, violin, and
flute had just begun to play. The candles were lit, and the
church was slowly filling up. I was surprised as an usher grabbed me from behind; he was none other than the gentleman from New York who had arranged our choir’s Carnegie Hall trip of that Spring. He escorted me right down to the second row, where all of my Miami friends were already seated. As the church was not yet filled–although it was certainly quiet enough–we made quite a scene as they jumped up and engulfed me with generous hugs and kisses. And then Kathy, one of my travel buddies to New York, said “Oh dear! I’ve just gotten lipstick all over your gorgeous suit!” And sure enough, on the sleeve of my granny-smith-apple-green (my obsession for the color deep enough to practically warrant medication) suit was a
pale pink lipstick smudge. It was an Escada suit, bought at a
consignment shop and, even at consignment prices, not inexpensive.
She felt horrible about it. But what could I do?
No matter. I got to thinking–as I sat quietly in my pew
listening to the strains of the harp–about the number of people
who would gladly trade a lipstick smudge on an expensive suit
for any one of those slobbery hugs I so enjoyed. I thought of
folks sitting in other pews who might have recently lost their
lover, their husband or wife, their child, their best friend, or
their betrothed. How fabulous would a hug from them have felt
that night?
How many times do we–as mothers–forego a hug from our little ones because strawberry jam is sticking to their fingers, or food remains on their tiny wet lips? Are we worried that we’ll get our new t-shirt dirty, that we’ll ruin the make-up we so carefully just applied to our freshly scrubbed face, or that the
interruption of the hug will make us late to an appointment?
Perhaps I have gained perspective over the years. Call it rarely
getting a hug from my sixteen-year-old son, or even from
my teenage daughter, Cristina, for that matter. Call it worrying about my sixteen-year-old when he has almost exceeded curfew, and rejoicing when I hear the garage door screech up on its chain. Call it realizing with unhappy certainty that my eight-year-old’s goodnight squeezes will in the not-too-distant-future be a thing of the past.
So forget clothing. Forget your perfect make-up. You can always
deal with dirt. That is, afterall, why drycleaning was invented.
Steal those hugs and kisses like there’s no tomorrow. And see how many moments you can add to life by the number of breaths it
takes away.
Carolina Fernandez earned an M.B.A. and worked at IBM and as a stockbroker at Merrill Lynch before coming home to work as a wife and mother of four. She totally re-invented herself along the way. Strong convictions were born about the role of the arts in child development; homeschooling for ten years provided fertile soil for devising creative parenting strategies. These are played out in ROCKET MOM! 7 Strategies To Blast You Into Brilliance. It is available on Amazon.com, in bookstores everywhere, or by calling 888-476-2493. She writes extensively for a variety of parenting resources and teaches other moms via parenting classes and radio and TV interviews. Please visit http://www.rocketmom.com to subscribe to her free ezine and get a weekly shot of inspiration.