Lores spoken in whimsical prairies
by the dark cold walls in fragrant breaths
of incandescent thoughts sifting thin air
clenching at souls that remained
with will of stone, penance for curse of death
they swept through cadavers empty and abysses alike
wishing for just a minuscule of time
to at-least once feel, as they did before.
1 comment:
As I read your text I feel the fragrant breaths and the thing air sweeping coldly over my arms - it's so evocative.
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