Can you hear the birds singing in between her laughter
The dances of golden dust in the letters of her words
The poetry unveiling behind her pale languish honey orbs
And yet she's too far gone,
Too gradually fading in the slightest waves of air,
And the memories are numbing you.
YOU ARE READING
Plague Prosaic
PoetrySimple things, doesn't have to be right, doesn't have to be wrong, it just have to be. A 'kind-of' a journal about everything ordinary inside a mind so chaotic. All Rights Reserved ©Lazidoura 2021
