Lost are the words
Strung like pearls
On strands of thought
Thrown into the silence of an ashtray
Where men work on wooden benches
Sewing together material
Torn from days
Long past.
Letters rise from deep
Shaded valleys
Disappear into vapor
To form feathery Clouds
Above a grassy hill.
There they take shape
Form recognitions
Visions of sensations
We never knew
We felt
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Author:
alan b (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2026 02:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
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