
If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket
The night sky would appear
Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America
The unspoken words caught in a language barrier
Sometimes it's hard to write poetry
It's almost like the words get stuck
in the folds of my mind before they reach the paper
Or maybe I just can't describe
memory
Comments
It's interesting to look at this picture after reading your poem about the library. It looks nearly empty, but as I said before: You made it come alive!
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