Siddartha Beth Pierce > Writing | WritersCafe.org

Play it again the Red Violin painted with a lock of her hair the dead blood still within her veins watch her travel about the world inspiring ..

A woman with golden hair emerald eyes high cheekboned from the Celtic clan once known. A sculptress who molds with molten iron, ropes and ..

The right to bear arms means to roll up your sleeves.

Icount my days in the clippings of your hair the smiles that you wear. Icount my days in the light within your eyes as they dance for the fair'..

White wolf wrapped in red velvet hammers tunes of yesterday's afternoon.

Erudite lessons one says few, far between that which passes daily upon this rural scene. Yet, I seek them with the fervor of a wolf in midst..

Etched in my heart is the memory of you the size of your shoes the blink of your eyes that pen leaking nonsensical rantings of literary prizes ..

When once again I sit to write nothing but you comes to mind in your absence I have seen the most obscene occurences yet you are here no ..

Cucumber melon treats sure sound neat in waxifieng poetic schemes dripped upon the pages my flesh set about in unrest fluttering in the breeze ..

The mower blades the grass smells fresh, green foliage only to turn to brown clumps upon the lawn in a days turn beneath the sun. Piled across..