gleaming face
gentle wind strokes
winter mist
amidst the dusk spectrum
occasionally, the horn sings;
forward we must go.
from a poet
with silent tricks
to broadcast nonchalance
guiding lively slaves
through a path
scattered in pain
the brittle loc’d poet
says blow the horn.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
gleaming face
gentle wind strokes
winter mist
amidst the dusk spectrum
occasionally, the horn sings;
forward we must go.
from a poet
with silent tricks
to broadcast nonchalance
guiding lively slaves
through a path
scattered in pain
the brittle loc’d poet
says blow the horn.