

Last of July 4A child, wild, unstoppable, irresponsible, Crying over the lost tank, the golden car, wishing for the best of his life, Jumping hoops, burning roads, stars, Shooting at them with a BB gun filled with hopes and dreams, Raising to the top and jumping from the ladder, through the windowed wall, Landing in a pile of nails.Last of July 4


Still nothing July 4Water pouring, cleaning the filthy dirt roads, Feeding the plants, showing the heads of thousand of angry, obnoxious persons, Playing happily, jolly songs on the roofs, kicking the dust of the weeks and month of the windows, Washing the blood stains clinging for their past lives, Making puddles for children to play and get dirty.Still nothing July 4


Nothing from July 4A rain drop equal to mine, A salty drop running down a smooth face, Kissing the corner of the lips, before flying in a slow flight, Lighting up, feeding life to my dry lips, Reaching for her, for her cheek, behind her ear, For her dark fire sliding down her naked back, Dipped in cold water, she stands there with her wings wet and cold, crying.Nothing from July 4


Something .3Back in the temple, far from trouble and the messes of Shin, a young man by the name of Musha teaches the sacred kendo art. Watching from the first floor balcony, Ziza studies every single one of his moves, correcting even the smallest mistake. A smooth and delicate bell rings by the door, Shin essence awakes the furin, letting them now he had arrived home. Musha continued with the lesson while Ziza went to greet him. The moment Ziza laid her eyes on him, she realized something had happened, and although he tried to calm her, she still wasnt at ease. Shin let go of a faint smile and goes to his room. With him resting aSomething .3
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