All the days are graying and I'm fraying like the sweater my grandfather gave me.
It still smells of cigars and old west, I'm ever quested and pressed with emotion.
I've become a faded flower fated to the pages of an old almanac in the back of the library.
Scents of worn novellas standing solitary on shelves and fragrant wisps of wisteria.
Alone to settle and mettle with dust and dialogues full of empty follies and triumphs.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
All the days are graying and I'm fraying like the sweater my grandfather gave me.
It still smells of cigars and old west, I'm ever quested and pressed with emotion.
I've become a faded flower fated to the pages of an old almanac in the back of the library.
Scents of worn novellas standing solitary on shelves and fragrant wisps of wisteria.
Alone to settle and mettle with dust and dialogues full of empty follies and triumphs.
Amara Pendergraft 2013
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