I have learned to interpret silence. My mind splutters, on the verge of an idea, and once again disappears into the abyss. An ocean cannot freeze. Sometimes I wish it would.
Enthralled by mysteries, the intoxicating paradox of my mind brings extreme hilarity.
Do I strive to become another Daphne, or let this perplexity lead?
I live in stacks of books, with no more room on the painted bookshelf. White polished furniture built my habitat. My poems are full of obscure imagery. I seem to be a nomad with a single destination.
Iceland engulfs my eyes. Mountain arch brows trace my unspoken thoughts. My wind-nipped face slowly softens as the day disappears.
Enthralled by mysteries, the intoxicating paradox of my mind brings extreme hilarity.
Do I strive to become another Daphne, or let this perplexity lead?
I live in stacks of books, with no more room on the painted bookshelf. White polished furniture built my habitat. My poems are full of obscure imagery. I seem to be a nomad with a single destination.
Iceland engulfs my eyes. Mountain arch brows trace my unspoken thoughts. My wind-nipped face slowly softens as the day disappears.
- Read more about gray
- Log in or register to post comments
- Sprout