Hell is when you can’t see the folks you love. All... - church of phocks

church of phocks

Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail / The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder, / That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze / Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder / Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind, / Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind, / An’ the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time / An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
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Hell is when you can’t see the folks you love. All the rest don’t count. Hunting and Gathering, Anna Gavalda (via bestiola)

(Source: forx2ever)

▲15 | reblog | 10 months ago

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Reblogged from: bestiola
Originally posted by: forx2ever