Rebecca Stansfield Poems
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The Kind Of Day When Violins Play
Clouds made up of sounds of violins, the white clouds that seldom move, if you stare for days.
The birds that never seem to look angry, even as the crows, eat their own friendships.
The kind of day when the sky, looks like a flying ocean, and you want to jump up into it, not realising that you cannot fly upside down.
When the monsoon is barley a problem, because you like the look of the rain anyway, because it looks like sunrays, sunrays from the sky.
The kind of day when the trees hardly seem to sway, even if there was a tornado, you'd refuse to run away.
And the crickets that ...
Where my mind suddenly to attack
And how my weak is becoming strong
That I want to punch kick and smack
Anything is I see is turing cold
How can I live so rich-less?
And with money but all bussiness
Or all money and perfect skin
What more can I do than pray outloud?