Broken Blood Lines © ~ by Katrina Curtiss ~ 10.24.2022
There is a small circle in which I live Back and forth we choose to give Never a question about your need Our tribe, sharing the same seed.
There is a small circle in which I live Back and forth we choose to give Never a question about your need Our tribe, sharing the same seed.
Shiny and proud, the color of red The most beautiful crayon in the box, some said Used to color rainbows, roses and lips Used so often she rounded her tip.
There are many things that you can take Which don’t belong to you Possessions and choices, just to name a few.
Marching in a rally, gathered for a cause Fearful of assault weapons, causing me to pause One loaded lunatic can mow down several souls Vowing to make a difference, going to the polls.
Oh, the heat we have in Texas makes a cat meow It burns the paws of doggies and tans the hides of cows The tar it gets so hot, that when you cross the street Make sure to wear your shoes or burn the bottoms of your feet.
I know a little thing; it’s how to play the guitar Sometimes it takes me little, sometimes it takes me far I’m as good as some, not as good as most I love that I can play it, but do not like to boast.
I was sitting so comfortably in my chair When on my face, I found a stray hair Where did it come from? How long was it there? I jumped straight up from my comfortable chair.
A concrete world, neon flashing lights, Deep fried dainties on a Saturday night.
I’m good when the scale doesn’t go very high But when it does, sometimes, I cry The older I get, the harder it seems To reach the magical weight of my self limiting dreams.
I wonder upon this night about those in Ukraine Fleeing their country, stricken with pain How much can the human spirit endure? War is contagious, we must find a cure.