Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing
The illusion of time when we are bound to the ticking hands or the ancient hourglass counting the weeping sands
This heart I give you as red fire sun sinks low in the evening sky Accept your fate, for love must not wait nor beg me the question as to why.
Heart tossed aside like yesterday’s brilliant wilting rose, thrown away among the rocks left there wilting away, for love comes then flees as velvet petals dry and turn to golden crinkled dust wafting away in howling angry winds.
On this hot and humid midsummer’s eve the river calls to me as bullfrogs croak in a throaty bass while a whippoorwill sings in the trees.
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