Soil under my feet;
patch of blue forget-me-nots-
the wind sways goodbye.
How does it work?
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.
More stories from P. Totti and writers in Poets and other communities.
Looking at the lake; becoming one with the sky- resting in blue fog.
By P. Totti3 years ago in Poets
I’m tired of existing, of this body that lives without you. I'm tired of a pulse being the only signifier that I'm alive.
By Daniel Ka day ago in Poets
Revelation 22:11 KJV(i) 11 He that is unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and he that is holy, let him be holy still.
By Iris V.about 14 hours ago in Poets
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.