Aug 2015
I'm at the very edge of myself.
The night has arrived, my body
shocked numb, a cold
I am now accustomed to.
My reflection shows a forlorn face -
I tell it I wish I could whisper
flowers, each one delicate and white,
so they could float on a river
of dreams I made real.
The night has arrived, my body
shocked numb, a cold
I am now accustomed to.
My reflection shows a forlorn face -
I tell it I wish I could whisper
flowers, each one delicate and white,
so they could float on a river
of dreams I made real.
Written: August 2015.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. A link to my Facebook writing page is 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.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. A link to my Facebook writing page is 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.
