May 2011
5 posts
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I could write chapters upon volumes and my words would still ring hollow as blackened symbols prevent fragments of light from escaping the infinite potential of a truly empty page. These few lines bow with gratitude, curling in delight of remembrance: the experience of sharing parts of speech, like us, we, and ours.
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I See the Sun
behind the shroud of fog the drizzle and the storm I know the Sun is still shining pouring from blissfully quenched petals smiling brightly with sheer and undying gratitude revealed by a darkened fence letting go of the paint which once masked its true beauty soaring adrift the shrill chirps and twitters of birds greeting their first season collecting on buds now held loosely by...
