Stories of the world's market places

   To the extent that the heart still continuous to believe 
    something that can be found in the heart of a friend, 
    to me, too, as love can be. 
    At night, I live only in their dreams. 
    Dates are reread, a lonely hermit. 
    The sun was already turned off the back of my dreams. 
    Yet, after all this, I 
    I write an ode to life. 
    I like my door slot death. 
    Real, genuine, save, moods 
    swap stories inside, picked up from the path 
    all of which created the chords, 
    rhymes soup. Stories of the world's market places 
    send them to my blog through a variety of countries.