BiographyType: Poet Born: 9 Oct. 1968 Died: Liccione was born in Chicago, Illinois and raised in Rochester, New York. As a child, Liccione grew up in the struggles of a broken family, moving around in various homes, wandering from family member to family member. During his teen years, he went from living with friends to strangers, a vacant house, a vacant garage, and finally living inside his car, all the while managing to survive. |
Why when people are on their deathbed, they finally come to terms with life?
She says: ...love is really all that matters. He hears: ...really love to do it on the mattress.
The paper is my savior, the pen my blood, to words that shed my world.
Live for your country, die to yourself; live for yourself, die to your country.
Some people are severely lonely, all they can do is accept the single life as an example of being free and happy.
Words of war, on a piece of paper. Where peace is torn off, crumbled and toss in the waste basket.
All the beaches of the world, could never amount to, nor implore the one grain of sand that I stand on, which is your love.
Does giving your piece of mind, bring a peace of mind? Or is it better to be silent and let the war inside subside?
A dream is just as good, and will go as far as an action.
When something seems unbalanced and out of rhythm, just a song can tune things up in a moment. The power of music is therapy.
As the world continually multiplies, are we in a generation where people are divided, or people are equal?
A tongue is about the size of a bullet, but much more fierce and powerful.
We are all actors, set on the stage of the world, as the curtains open we put on our best performance to this audience of life.
A trusting heart will follow, only those who truly follow their heart.