in the morning
the lines lacing my eyes
are defined, clear pathways
through the day
they get weathered
trudged upon
wind and rain
joy and pain
light and dim
and then
and then at sun-drown
they remain in remnance
resplendent,amorphous
leaving so much to imagination
becoming so effortlessly
the threshold
of a long drawn dream
1 comment:
the threshold
of a long drawn dream
the words cuddled into my being. a little warm. a little moist.
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