I write about bleeding mosstrickling with emerald through my fingerslike a spring stream through the rock creviceI write about dark woods, where silence reignslike a thick cocoon made of lonelinessI write about haunted moonlights and old pine treescursed realms where shadowed wilderness meets sunlightabout creatures of deep darkness and spirits of blinding lightthe eternity that touches brief with its featherallowing it to see one more dayI am a beast of inka wolf made of wordscreating worlds; kissing the dawn
Comments (11)
See all