Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing
When my damaged heart can find no sustained relief you are what my old soul needs to shake me from my grief.
She should forget her passions and innermost desires incinerate her wants and needs build a gasoline fired funeral pyre tie them all to the killing stake burning away her emotions as her soul forsakes who she is.
In crimson dawn’s haloed light the awakening world fills with song warblers croon as wrens take flight to soar among sun swept throngs.
Vultures circling in morning sky what scent does the breeze carry Is it death or an exercise in teaching their young to be wary?
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