The rain comes as a disappointing
flourish to the night.
I would go out in it.
I'd be away from my cave
at least. Nothing
is unusual these days. A time of
crookedness and dirt.
My events bleed through the present.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
The rain comes as a disappointing
flourish to the night.
I would go out in it.
I'd be away from my cave
at least. Nothing
is unusual these days. A time of
crookedness and dirt.
My events bleed through the present.
Written: August 2015.
Explanation: A poem written quickly in my own time. Please see a link to my Facebook writing page on my home page here on HP. All feedback welcome.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP in the coming months.
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