Born brilliant, and good looking, he had me dancing, fevered – red cat woman, I am porcelain, prisoner, cup fishing, long to explore dark words
Category: aging
Windy
Winds here are unchained – no fear of stagnation – learning to tether myself to uncertainty – relying on instinct to pull through.
Do
Ancient song of Eden, our nature, as above – light to watch for – my summer, withering, her insect breeze vined would come there and
Age’s Rant
What if days were berries growing bright, whose sumptuous juices blossomed only in Summer? How sad it would be – such limitations, disrespectful of the
Frost Bitten
Gnarly, these withered limbs, this vessel more rigidity than flow, winter upon me, a permanent clouding, sunnier days passed – oh how vivid the imagination
Pause
Tides recede, puddled remnants of once oceanic flooding – emotions overpowering – threats now quelled. I breathe, lose myself in visions of gold and promising
