Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership

Long Betrayal Poems | Long Betrayal Poetry

Long Betrayal Poems. These are the most popular long Betrayal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Betrayal poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by C. L. Thornton | Details |

His Nameless Horse

His Nameless Horse

The last horse my grandfather had
they shot one spring morning
behind the barn, in which it had 

lived for many years without a name.
Peach trees were in bloom, pink 
and striking, in chilly April air. 

It was an old horse, its backbone 
sagging like the roof of an old farmhouse;
it wore a gray matted coat of winter hair. 

Its mane was dry like a spray of weeds,
and its hoofs were ringed with tufts 
of dirty hair and bits of caked earth 

and dung; its long tail fell listless 
from its roughened rump 
like a cluster of coarse bailing twine.

It was the last morning of its life.
It had eaten its last oats and taken
its last drink of well-water.

My grandfather entered the stable
and led the horse out to the outside 
back pen. I followed behind as I had

so many times before. But that morning
the old horse walked with a limp
caused by a swollen, infected knee. 

Surrouding the pen on one side, I saw
the men standing, pressed agaisnt each
other, faces drawn like mourners.

Then I saw it, the familiar rifle, 
leaning against the weathered shingles, 
the small red box of bullets next to 

the butt. And I knew. I knew what 
the old horse did not know. In dread I ran
back into the barn. I knew what the old 

horse did not. And I pressed my hands
hars over my ears, and I waited. Waited
for the shot that would bring down 

the old horse I had befriended, the old horse 
I had talked to morning after morning,
the old horse I had fed pieces of carrot
and apple to; the gentle old horse whose 
knotted mane and tail I used to brush, 
the old horse I brought fresh water to 

on hot afternoons, the old horse I used 
to spread wood shavings over its stable floor. 
I waited. And I knew what the old horse 

could not know. I waited. And when 
I heard the shot, my knees buckled
and I jerked as if the bullet had entered me.

And I fell to the ground and I groaned
and I cried, and I kept my hands hard
against my ears, shaking my head

as if to dislodge the sound of the shot
that had filled my head and amplified. 
The old horse let out a sharp cry and fell 

with a hard thud, like a big bag of grain,
its knees buckling under its weight,
collapsing on itself, a pile of dead horse.

What hurt most that morning was 
my grandfather’s casual treachery –
not so much as a pat on the old horse’s

shoulder, not a word of farewell, no outward 
sense of loss or sadness, no tears. Only 
a cold guiltless betrayal, as it seemed to me.

And the men who had gathered there 
that morning, they had come to watch 
the killing. Did the old horse not recognize

their faces? Did it not wonder why 
they were there? Did it not see the rifle, 
the small red box of bullets? Could it not 

have surmised it was going to be shot,
and by the very hands it had trusted, 
the very hands that had fed and cared for it, 

that had spoken to it like a friend for so
many years; hands that had mended 
its harnesses, led it to pasture for so 

many springs and summers, had walked 
behind it for spring plantings, guiding 
the plough it pulled, breaking the dark 

earth into furrows, while the old man 
dropped pieces of cut potatoes in the furrows?
How could the old horse not have known?

And they roped the dead horse
to the tractor, the small hole in its
forehead still leaking blood like

a liquid red ribbon. They dragged 
its body to a secluded corner of the field
grown thick with greening yarrow

and new shoots of goldenrods, 
the men following behind, silent 
and solemn, to where the earth 

had already been gutted open, waiting 
like a gaping mouth to swallow 
the horse’s carcass: a large meal 

that would take years for the soil 
to digest, leaving only a small depression
and a stench of rotting flesh

escaping slowly through a growth
of prickly blackberry, purple vetch 
and swarms of buzzing insects.

The men stood silent and watched
the dead horse dragged and fitted
into the open grave. And they stood

around the grave gazing at the dead horse,
noting how neatly its body fit there.
Then, to my surprise, my grandfather 

removed his hat and stared pensively 
at the nameless creature he had killed,
the horse he had known for most 

of his old age, the horse that had
served him selflessly. And wiping his eyes 
with the back of his hand, he walked away.

Certain men then took up shovels 
and began to fill the hole; the others
following my grandfather to the house, 

talking in whispers, as if they had 
witnessed the burial of one of their own, 
one they would never see again.

And for as many springs as they might
live, they would talk about the old man’s 
horse, the horse without a name, 

the harmless creature they had come
to watch die on a chilly April morning 
when peach trees were in bloom.

Long poem by olufunminiyi salawu | Details |


Sometimes, I sit on my sofa
Pondering on why war, poverty, hatred
and anguish has become a comforting bliss.
They say life is an unending quest; is it?
They say true love lasts forever;
Is there really anything called love?
Is life’s race really for the swiftest, the wisest or the dumbest?
I rake up my head to frenzy
yet no answers are formed.
Looking at the mirror, all I see is the same confused old look.
My lips charred, my hair falling
My face an ugly mask of wrinkles
Is this the real me? If it is, if it isn’t, then what is real about me?
In the distance
I hear a church choir singing that “God is Love”.
If God is love, then why is there so much blood, hatred and filth in the world?
Too many questions without answers.
I draw open my chest of history books
And I begin to wonder why Lumumba died and
Why Mobutu Sese Seko became president.
Flipping through my history books I see how the Europeans
came to Africa.
They claimed to be on a so-called civilizing mission
But it was only a cloak for their real intent- Exploitation.
With their collaborators; Africans themselves,
They subjugated and dominated Africa so easily.
Flipping further through mores pages, I see the same trend
Life is a story of betrayal and trust.
Every major event in life is bordered on trust and betrayal;
Everything might seem to be real on the outside, but on the inside it is vain.
I draw open the window panes trying to find answers.
Gazing at the stars and the moon I remain clueless,
But in the dark blue skies I see something;
A world divided between two lines- Good and Evil.
Whatever line one chooses is a matter of choice,
But choice most times eludes the most enterprising
and most determined individual.
Many end up becoming monsters,
Many end up becoming what they are not
Not because they are blind, not because they fail
to make the right choices,
but because they have bullets in their soup pot.
Many try to find peace and true freedom.
They seek; they ponder, but are left without answers.
In their desperation, they become lost in the dark
clammy cesspits of time,
Their lives become miserable.
Whatever is real is real because it is real
Whatever is fake is fake because we’ve not allowed ourselves to feel it.
If God is real, God is real because we feel his presence in our hearts;
If God is love, then love is real for it lies in our hearts.
Life has so many unanswered questions;
Questions without answers
Nothing can fill the vacuum created by unanswered questions,
Except one thing;
One thing most people have locked out from their hearts,
and that is love- True love.
In life we make so many choices,
yet let us not allow the choices we make destroy what we are,
rather let love make the right choices for us.
Love is why we are here, 
Love why we are what we are
And love will take us to the place of our dreams,
So let love fill our hearts and overwhelm us with its warm
cool gentle feel as we ascend the windy staircase of life.

Long poem by Donna McKendree | Details |

The War Within

the war within

friends betrayals
I give give give...
they take take take...
fear...aching fear inside
money...****ing money
stomach is sour...queezy
children abused...even killed
adults like gangsters...evil
when will it end?
how can we stop it?
troops must live like animals
surviving off the government
government...what a joke
people die on roof tops
families shattered...lost
God humbles our spoiled nation
It CAN happen to us
no immunity for the powerful
people many gone
education...just an obstical
blocking the road to wisdom
Mans laws...the Constitution
Gods laws...the Bible
Evolution...they teach it
we know the real story
In the beginning...
yada yada yada
Mans law...we can have guns <----they teach it
Gods law...we can't steal or kill <----they don't
guns a tool for both
Mans laws...shouted
Gods laws...forbidden
I say peace = innocence = POWER
remember the world as a kid
see it now thru kids eyes
let the kids rule the nation
simple minds = simple life
you have a checkbook
so you DO have money mom
oops there it goes again
switching channels in my mind
what college...which path
how can I help...she's on her way
years yet to different
will I make it thru...will she?
changes in attitude
with age comes change...abruptly
this house...I want to lay down
but this house...
laundry...burn it
dishes...break it
carpet...piss on it
dust...blow it
housework...**** it
no friends anyhow
25 shoes laying around
but not one pair?
and panties...
they NEVER have panties
who hides the hairbrushes
did I really buy nail clippers
every thing has it's place
here...every place has it's thing
who leaked the CIA info...
who ****ing cares
do I dodge the birds?
germs everywhere...waiting
mother...well won't go there
PJ...not worthy of my thoughts not going there either friends always...He's #1
Josh & Hannah...well ... gotta hate em
Angels...I feel them at times angel on earth
kids truly believe in friendship
they live...they learn
grandmother...I need to visit
I ache...meds become cash
cash for what?
checks...those damn checks
they haunt me
the telephone is my enemy
surgery? surgery
what about 10 years from now
dentist...I'd rather die
my dad...a pain that will never heal
the spinning slows down for now
10 minutes inside my head
so very exhausting...thinking
a short break...then once again
the spinning takes control
Dave the only one understanding
i worry...I know I exhaust him
I exhaust me
I feel better now
cleared some of my mind
the thoughts escaped
the real question is....
will any of this *****matter tomorrow? I go again
break is over...
another whirlwind begins

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |


Love?  But he always hurt you.  

Can’t leave the punk?  But he is abusive.  

In too deep?  Just leave him! 

Alone?  Isn’t that the best way to be?  

Need someone to lean on?  But the world is crazy.  

Want to share your thoughts?  Just pray to the Lord!  

Joe you wrong.  The color woman was suppressed by the white man for too long.  And now you want to fight.  I dare you to strike me like that.  

Why do I trust?  Any man today is a wrongdoer!

Intimacy?  But you should want to be free.  

Need to be loved? But you just end a relationship with a no good thug.  

Want comfort?  Why not find you a support group!

Depressed?  Isn’t by yourself a way to think.  

Need someone to talk to?  But people are not true.  

Desire a best friend?  I am always here!  

Steven isn’t good for moral support.  He will seek you for sex and enjoyment.  You say you are depressed and stressed from to many bad relationships.  

Why do you want to trust without healing?  

Not yourself?  But that’s because of what you been through.  

Can’t find sense?  But that’s within reason of the pain you feel, Honey Boo.  

Colors?  You have suffered now it is time to heal.  

Want to go out?  That’s it!  Learn to help yourself.  The world can be deep.  In depth you become to the life you live.  No time to hide what you feel.  Maybe a day to cry and then go out and chill!  

Want a drink?  Not so fast.  

Want to drown your sorrows as usual?  No time for addiction or developing bad habits.  Trust your instincts and know things will get better!  It is a sad thing to see a friend become a substance abuser.  You know what is wrong but can’t do nothing at all but tell her to not drink to solve any issue.  If you find that they are strong, you know they have listened.  

Want to scream?  

Why not do that to let out the steam?  This will help you to cope and not make a mistake to trust before you know him.  

Want to smile?  Just smile!  You also seem to desire affection.  You say this would be just a simple friend that cannot go against you.  But you don’t state whether that is me.  I am best kept as it seems.  Let’s sing and sing.  Let’s enjoy the life we live.  

Must you trust your heart with somebody?  You don’t.  Just wait until the time has come.  You can be by yourself for a while.  If you need a smile, humor your mind.  Never letting anyone one in and then before you know it you have met the prefect man. 

Why trust when you can be free?  

Why need anybody?  Love is true to those who define true meaning.  

Why trust when he is misleading?

User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Betrayal
Entry Date: February 26, 2014

Long poem by Therese Bacha | Details |

La Vie En Rose

La Vie En Rose.
Today she is back to her past her body is ailing her entity 
to enter into her space of 40 years backwards when she was 
stunning every single day full of power energy love depth
imaginations dreaming day and night she was in love with a 
man younger than her just 5 years but her love for him made 
her feel and look much younger. 
Her whole existence mentally lived with him 24 hours after 
24 hours her dreams had no end her joy of having him to look 
forward to be with on the weekends made life feel its an eternal 
life of happiness .

She would leave her house daily at 8 AM to go to work being
the main sales person in one of the most elite boutiques for men. 
From  9 am to 8 pm she was surrounded by men some wanting 
to buy clothes others to have a coffee with her and the boss and 
other men wanting to take her out for dinners or anywhere just 
to be with her for a few minutes, to admire her beauty tall slim 
extremely elegant always wearing white and black beautiful make 
up green eyes small nose sexy lips and dark long black hair.

She was for years the talk of the town as her husbands family were 
very well known in her home town, and she had very busy night 
life with her husbands friends and receptions and going out to very 
expensive restaurants dancing never had time to take a sip from
her glass of wine. Living la vie on Rose.

How she wished she could have passed one day in life without being 
in pain having the audacity to leave her husband and run towards her
lover there was always fighting going on in her heart fighting to 
discover his love before hate fighting to gain her strength even at a 
young age to walk her through life with the unforeseen surprises in 
her life time coming path.

Today she was stabbed in her heart that is why now she is longing to 
depart far away for a new start to wash his betrayal away.  
She woke up crying today dreaming of May when she will travel into
the distance praying to visit her could stay till next month of May.

Awake ailing dreaming of watching the bay land on that ferry with no 
delay just to run anywhere persistently to discover a new day today. 
She woke up tormented living between grief or nothing she will take 
nothing having to write her story later on of going backwards 40 years.
She will leave her sorrow now for another tomorrow when she will 
borrow anyone to follow & lift her towards the ocean throw her to the 
waves in motion carry her away for a while. She will be back, as she 
never felt sorry for herself.

She will be Back Soon.
        Therese Bacha

Win No. 9

Long poem by Trevor Morse | Details |

A Mandrake's Gesture vol. VII

There upon the courtship,
proclaimed, a sorrowful
spirit hearkened upon 
this ballad of misery
and burden.  For her
grief and unrelished
despair, the angels
of Michael, our saintly divine,
answered, whil'st upon 
the hour of marriage royal,
an unwanted surprise,
a battle declared, as the 
essence of Faith
This day of celebration,
joyous, the sun's vibrance
a galliant shiny array
of angelic symphony.
The court's jester prepared
daintfully as the council
gathered for the wedding
and celebration.
Crowds upon crowds 
of commons and 
majestic royals gathered 
in anticipation, for 
a marriage vow of 
royal to peasant a 
spleen for gossip.
Geinere's beauty and spirit
made so ever-beautiful
and bountiful, her Magdalenic
passion, though hidden
from the stage, her garden
of love like no other
Atlantis.  This ballad
of acceptance Cherubic
as the maiden Geinere
was given away.  The 
gathered pupils from 
near and far, sighted
tears of admiration 
and also of disbelief.

The King. . . his pious
disobediences, very kept
subtle, for betrayal's
embrace, here to far,
loomed as an ominous
hawk awaits its 
swoop.  As the candles 
of the holy triad were
lit, joyous spirit
and unition embarked,
as tragedy did fall upon 
this royal majestic whim.
A messenger, grief
stricken, hence
matters slowly, a 
voice to the King.

"My King, this glorious
day made tragic,
for our kingdom under seige
soon, a chance to the North."
"Speakest thou, this
action made, a declaration
of war, for no mercies
we have, can'st  determine
our strategic foe."  
The King's voice grave with 
anger and unsuspected
turmoil.  A call to the 
Prince, oh the mighty
heavens did begin to
crash.  Bolts of resilience
and vigor shot from 
the oncoming enthralls
of vengeance. 
"Messenger, retrieve 
the preparations, summon
forth our army at 
once.  My son!"
Trumpets blew, as 
alarm and anxiety
did ensue, instilling
paramount fear, though
only matched by the 
mighty holds of fate.
"My Prince, calmest be,
our sudden birth of 
unknowing, pray we share
our time spent precious,
for a call to arms for
certain."  Geinere, her demeanor
shaken, her Goddess crying
out as the premonitions
of glorious battle, and dying
victory echoed throughout.
"My love, I regret these 
tragic circumstances,
our labors, pray not 
lost to this ardorous
hell that has come upon us."
The king speaking,
"my Prince, my son, I will 
await these temptations of
Belial, ever so gracefully
with the fullest respects,
yours to mine."

Long poem by Jerrika Holmes | Details |

My Love

His presence is right next to me.
Never thought reality,
Could feel just like it does.
I'm tired of holding on,
To something I know is wrong,
His past is what it was.
Never thought it would do to me,
Exactly what it did to me.
Causing pain between me and my love.
How could I ever be,
Filled up with so much hostlity,
And aim it towards the guy above?
I never thought he would send to me,
Exactly what he sent to me.
An angel that I could call my own.
I'm unwanted in this madness,
Drowning in all my sadness,
But with Donald, I know I belong.
How could he ever do to me,
The things tHEy did in history,
Some things of which I despise.
Caught up in emotional luxaries,
Needing a lovers company,
Yet falling for all of their lies.
But never once with my love,
Could I ever experience such a pain,
Was the thought I had come to believe.
And even after seven months,
Of dealing with jealousy, his past and trust,
It's still him, the one that I fiend.
Indeed he had a past just like the others,
Didn't intend to make me cry,
But he did because of the things he had done.
But I couldn't let him go,
I couldn't give up love.
Couldn't let THEM come to believe that they had won.
My fears try to scare away,
Something I know is the best.
That's why this is something I need to get through.
Why give up on something,
That hasn't given up on me?
Why give up on a love that's true?
We both have our pasts,
We both have our problems,
But we can't let that reflect on the future that we were destined to  
Why leave a bestfriend?
Why leave a companion?
When u know that he's the only one that cares?
Jealousy, betrayal, trust.
Created by my own insecurities.
Are things this angel will help me overcome.
They are weighing on my heart,
They are weighing down this relationship.
That's what happens when your past carries a ton.
How can an angel be the way,
He just was on yesterday?
Having a personality just like the last and the next.
What I see shining through,
The mirror reflecting you.
Is everything that you use to lack.
An angel desguised as a demon,
Another example of society taking control.
Just luckly my angel had taken his mask off in time.
Revealing his true colors.
Showing his true personality.
My angel was ready to shine.
Yet he still has a past,
That haunts me 'til this day.
That would have probably never existed if he didnt want to fit in.
We will work through these things.
Because we both want to change.
For the first time,
In a long time,
I will let my happiness win!

Long poem by Derek Ortiz | Details |

"The Curse Runs In Our Blood, For Tonight Darling, Burn With Me"

Run, Run far, dont look back, dont fall, dont stop, no, dont stop, dont!

The night became cold, we were pursued by mans like never seen before, oh i gambled my 
soul for this brilliant tragedy, for this will i have, now i fight for my love, feels like i have lost, 
i wonder if it mathers the day i sat upon the world and said out the fearsome words of 
deception, deceived by my enemy, friend or foe? Betrayed by my own blood, God or Satan? 
Swallowed by pride and left alone by bliss, i wonder if wanting to die is bliss i drown on, i 
remember just talking to my master, for then they delcare war agaisnt us, cold no more, all i 
felt was flames on my skin, i knew i was burning, i was feeling nothing, by my desperation 
pain did overcome trought my pores, i grasped my skin, my melting skin, to tell my master 
that i have failed, for then my orders were clear, leave the palace with the love you fought 
for, now is the time that sleepless nights fall upon your shoulders, I must protect the girl at 
any cost, for the fury of the enemy the arrows flewed trought the concrete walls, they were 
posses by the man who i deceived years ago, my heart steping like a horse, for then i 
realize i must leave at timeless haze, no looking back, no time to fall, dont stop, now i saw 
my love...

Run, Run far, dont look back, dont fall, dont stop, no, dont stop, dont!

This arrows were mirely missed by my hate, i dislike the man who stoled my dreams, now i 
run with my love to see the sunrise of tomorrow morning, but only one question comes 
ahead, will i see the sunrise alive? Our tongue is dried, our breathing is becoming short, she 
is dripping from reality, no more chance to live, then i saw the blood splattere on my face, 
her beatiful sweet blood on my face, as she falls to the grounds of betrayal, my toughts are 
blocked by hate and rage, i want her alive, my love, my princess, my queen, now that you 
have overcome your fears i wont let you die, her blood dripping at intense amounts, i put 
pressure in the deep wound were all that it comes out is pureness, i cant take it, i must save 
her, at my desperation, i slipt my wrist, open wide her wound and let my blood mix with 
hers, as her heart starts to beat faster mines starts to slow, i feel im going to sleep, i see 
everything fall exept her radiance rising from the dead, i guess this is how it ends, her 
embrace, the sunrise, i saw it alive, and i died seeing it shine, her softness touches my face, 
as i rest eternaly, she sleeps with me.

Long poem by Raul Moreno | Details |

In the Silver Rain

Awaiting the descent of light,
Darkness befalls
Intimate shadows emerge,
Within a silvery...eerie mist.

His dark...predatory presence,
Atop her pallid...shiny skin
Unrestrained...immortal love
His muscles burst with definition.
As he positions his masculine intuition,
He sinks his pearl teeth into the bite.

Seduced by his jaw’s clinch;
Indulged by the bitter taste.
He removes his black cloak,
Releasing his pale...burnished aura.

Her wound of tartness glistens,
A crimson...resolution radiates,
By the crescent moon, 
Off her feverish body.

Evanescent screams...pierce the dark,
Shivery moans resonate,
As she catches her heavy breathing,
Within the mist and shadow.

Tiny...silver drops of silk sweat stream,
From her well woven web of deceit
A subtle...silver rain begins to fall
Lustrous eyes...heavily gaze, 
Getting lost in chocolate pupils,
Illuminated by pleasure,
She casts an unseen...devious smile. 

He sucks her blood in the bite,
Delicious...lustrous fluid,
Moistens his lips and mouth.
A bitter taste,
A carmine mood,
A salty breath,
She beseeches him not to halt.

Enveloped by pleasure and pain,
She's penned by his weight of love
He's Transylvanian brood
His burgundy taste...satisfied
He closes his bronze eyes,
And licks her crimson...tainted neck

His fangs tipped of her blood,
He sighs releasing his origin
Dreaming of his ongoing legacy
In this plethora of pleasure,
Unaware of her murky feelings.

Amidst the tangled...silken haze,
Her hand scrounges the ground
Overturned leaves, blow in the wind,
Into the night’s dark undertones.

He arches his body...extending his arms
Praising, pleasure and darkness
His once closed...bronze eyes,
Open rapidly and dilate,
Exhaling a grimaced...sigh of betrayal
To the infliction of a wooden stake 
Pressed directly into his heart
Ending his Vampireous rage.

She also stabbed her heart
Ending her own life,
In the veil of darkness
Killing centuries and preventing
The Vampireous brood from 
Continuing their dark somber reign.
Lifeless she lays,
As a montage of memories, 
Races across his mind,
Of the beginning and end, 
In this Transylvanian forest.

He remembers:
His solemn life of eminence,
Fading to a now ebonizing agony
On this unforgettable night, 
Of making sour...passionate love,
Underneath a canopy of sweet shadow,
To a human heir that ended the life
Of the last Vampire in Transylvania, 
And its' dying the silver rain.

Long poem by Troy Nelson | Details |

The veil of the under rug swept prophet part 2

Seventy thousand years and we are still fighting over religion.... Not the best 
image to hold anything up to and then praise
I can only tell u pieces of this mystery my soul tells me again and again
Of why the world is like this
Revolving around the truth of four sentences
Three planes of existence
One prophet here to become a god and be come like a conductor of an intricate 
train set

I have witnessed beauty turn ugly in time
And summers go cold in the winter
And as my godmother creatively throws me away to remind me I'm truly not 
I look toward the telepathic dreams I have of giants
to rediscover the driving force
As to why we are trying to hunt down men overseas working to revolutionize their 
That they have spent living centuries of terror in
Backed into a corner of horror and mental anguish and pain
Where all they could do out of survival was rise against 
Even if it meant with equal force of carrying a gun

Jesus spent 3 days in hell
struck a deal with the devil
I spent centuries there to crawl from that nightmare to be born into this one
To find the footsteps and pieces of the shattered veil of ignorance being bliss
I believe I am more of a hero for being more of a man for taking my punishment
I didn’t deserve
For a test he failed 
That turned my joke into hell and blackmailed a favorite angel
to come to this earth to try to understand man's plan to fix whatever the prophet 
that is there between the lines of destiny
predicted pulling strings wove and his vengeance struck down
70 thousand years of betray al and punishment
Living in a dark place amongst all of this god’s pain of paranoia and mental 
anguish I thought was mine
To realize the prophet full well knew this destiny was coming
and all he could do was cry
Now living in this s earth of oxymoron’s and questions and hunting shadows and 
footsteps asking questions myself and finding answers I’m learning to read 
between the lines
3 days is easy of a punishment you don’t deserve for a test of betrayal where as 
a favorite angel punished for an eternity for god's will to become an actor is an 
enlightenment only the prophet with his four demons can fully comprehend how 
to mend

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Long Poems