Poets are not dead,
for words are our butter and bread;
we'd never thirst or starve.
I am here among the stars above.
I never left.
I never left.
— we are here.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Nimbus
Poetry[ a poetry collection about breaking and forgiving. ] He admired her so much that the light she emits blinded his eyes, and all he has vanished to oblivion. A mistake he failed to avoid. She saw him turned into something else; it was mournful. To pr...
