From afar, a trumpet resounded without a tune sang a dog in a four-pawed cadence silence the trees danced along the march. Footsteps drummed in a celebration of summer like no other, the sun lit up with a smile from
There are things I must learn to do, yet before, I count to ten. One, not everything is solved by impulse. Two, you procrastinate too much. Three, nothing is too big. Four, nothing is too little. Everything has weight. Weigh
I stand afar from the ocean’s reach musing horizons past the breach for many waded long before becoming victors rising ashore barefoot, frightened, near the edge I would not jump into the bed for waters rise and waters fall and
Love, darling. The world is at a loss the nice things are rusty, cruelty becomes a norm. The tip of her tongue is as sharp as a dagger; her fingers, a nib spilling pitch-black holes into the canvass where no
Sometimes, the world is a three-year-old, throwing tantrums, not wanting to go to bed Sometimes, the world age past eternity and eyes, wide awake, await for death Sometimes, the world counted stars without names and guess which one hits next
I have a Tiny Letter! Please subscribe if you want me to send you (love) Letters to Strangers. I write about poems and stars and why you should keep your embers close to the heart so you will remain warm and on fire. And not alone. See you?
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