I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Cigarette sears snow Blanketing somnolent soil Dreaming of spring air
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Poets
The river speaks blue Navy nouns and Venice verbs It demands justice
Sovereign stalagmite Heavier than villainy Gossiping with clouds
There is a strange sadness in a spent forest. It is a kind of forgetting that eats the means of recollection. Only humans can make a mistake like this, and fire is the right reminder. Taking until the giver cannot spell harvest is folly.
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Fiction
