I get the sense I am searching for something. I feel it. Right at the edge of dawn. Rose fingers. A soft breath. Who am I? I already know. This is not for me. I want words on a page. I want life and I want art that all speak my name and reflect each other like twin bookcases. I want to hold my soul, all the facets of me, and say, there. I am me. But no, I am a woman. But no. I am flying. I am wind. I am starlight on a winter's night. I am the song of the sad nightingale. My lips invent the heavens. Gold chariots ride across my tongue. My world exists within me; I just need to give birth to it.
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ECSTASY
Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
