crisp autumn air, whispers bear
hill crests only we know where leaves are so
amber and the sky is so golden.
Posted in response to the challenge PAST CONTESTS: Fall '23: Writing.
crisp autumn air, whispers bear
hill crests only we know where leaves are so
amber and the sky is so golden.
Posted in response to the challenge PAST CONTESTS: Fall '23: Writing.
every twist of inadequacy's blade
(each one worse than the previous)
fell in a rhythmic order, one that your silence
carried in. did you hate me?
you'd never say so. so blindly, i never changed.
sunday nights are my own.
old music in the corners of my mind
pen scratches on paper, ten thousand poems
two hundred and seventy-two
little golden lights, 4 walls
that mirror my soul.
At the hurl of a storm, the tree collapses.
Stagnant from then on, broken. Such an easy thing to be.
In the unpredicted wind, it sways
back and forth on its trunk, tendons straining
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