fortunate are the dead, that they don't believe the lies of the living- else, the graveyards too may fill, with money and malice.
Tag: Poetry
Snow-
not that I've seen her before; I imagine she's wet, amorphous and cold; like an elusive aunt, we hear so much about, she may ultimately disappoint.
I’m wrong-
it's all I've ever heard, from the world- I am wrong. Not to be trusted or counted on, the weight of expectation bearing down; a frowning colleague, a fuming boss, a judgmental friend, a lover who seldom listens- I am wrong. the most eclectic of fairy tales, I've come to believe them- to question myself-… Continue reading I’m wrong-
