Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2016
Maybe I am writing his story,
or a part of his history.
A scribe of a life revealed to me,
or of things that are meant to be.

Images of places I've never gone,
to the waking eye goes unseen.
Faces of people I've never known,
haunting me in my dreams.
Tia White
Written by
Tia White  Georgia
Please log in to view and add comments on poems