A Threadmaker
Too gold to see
Too blind to keep
Too young to believe
But she spoke so real
With words revealed
Crowd pierced her palms untamed
The lass was ceased to weave
What ears should hear
A girl who was once a weaver
Paradoxically needled her own tongue
She cried and tried to revive
So she let her eyes rouse too wide
—a. alex
YOU ARE READING
unfold aphorism
Poetryi can't restrain myself eyeing without telling what is what. I'll spill the teas here.
