Wednesday, December 15, 2010

My Little House

O dusty door of maple wood,
How more will you withstand?
Along you swing, your rusty hinge,
With a soft touch of my hand.

O window, of a set of five
You were target number one,
My catapult was on a roll,
Its aim had just begun.

O crackedy mirror on the wall,
O synth beside of it,
D'you remember my vanity?
Those hours of musical bliss?

And what about you, Mr. Nook?
Adorned with cobby webs,
Did you forget, those little tears
In times of loneliness?

Today I drive a Jag to work,
But when I listen to that song,
I find it's you, my little house,
It's you, where I belong.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Found quite a nice bit of thought in one of my unopened mails I was skimming through; never thought those endless forwards could be any fun! Here goes,

Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice!

Too lazy to change even the font size up there :P