The world is an apple. At times sour, others sweet. It depends on the bite you take.
Every choice you have made in your lifetime dictates the definition of “world”
What a world...
Burning words fall from heavens and hatred is fired upon the innocent. I take your hand, cocooning ourselves with love.
My world is walking fast at night,
being afraid of wearing my favourite red lipstick.
The World, The soil.
The World, the soil that holds love, hate but mainly whatever we want to become.
deeply within soil
whether the world
When the night sky is pitch black, I remember that somewhere the sun is rising.
Tribute—You, Archibald MacLeish
Darkness flows over silent sands and black waters and people flee to homes, to dreams.
...the sphere that we write-off is a beachball-cartograph that will soon once again be flat.