Poems from GibGatz

  They always tell you not to cry over spilled milk, for better fortunes will follow, and all will be okay. But sometimes, when the cup is...
  What a beautiful color, red, she said And smashed it down with her hand Orange is pleasant as well, I can tell! And crushed it according...
It sure is something when one is killed, blindsided -  he simply does not see it coming. It is then something else when one can see it...
Art is the millisecond one awakes from a coma, A new perception of the mundaneThe steady heartbeat gone suddenly erratic,the formerly...
They loved on a deathbed. Rather,their love was that of a deathbed love. The chills were reciprocated,the energies mirrored,one heart...