Somewhere in our life,
We stain the edges of time,
Left, now, in my mind.
How does it work?
I love the phases of time (one’s life) reflected in the last line.
More stories from TheLateBloom and writers in Poets and other communities.
Everyone is searching for their answers. The answers that will justify how they live. How many times must you change to reflect what you are being shown, rather than accept your own face. What is it that scares you about creating your own destiny? Is it deciding on a path or the lingering fear that you don't have one?
By TheLateBloom 3 years ago in Poets
patience pushing through provocation and pain with poise passively plastered on unperturbed faces papering over the cracks formed
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Before The Silence Comes We wake, we dress, we walk into the day, Thinking the hours belong to us, Thinking tomorrow stands waiting at the door,
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It's Mothers' Day (Mother's Day? Mothering Sunday?) tomorrow here in Britain. I am going out for lunch and may have to dress up. I am looking forward to it. There is an expectation of gifts too. Who doesn't like a gift?
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in Viva
Comments (1)
I love the phases of time (one’s life) reflected in the last line.