Weed And Dust

I'd love to live without surviving,

without sucking emptiness

through tired, barren roots.

Upon the lips burns the dream

of being a flower in the wind,

of carrying the soft weight

of the unfastened skies

upon my silken skin;

thirst is harsh, though,

and I'm weed among stones,

dust is my nourishment.




  • Joe Dawson

    A touching and heartfelt write of ambition perhaps as yet unfulfilled, but about to bloom anew under unfasten skies. Poignant and uniquely fetching. Joe

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