Witherland
- Reads 1,017
- Votes 303
- Parts 23
Ongoing19m
Last published Sat, Nov 11, 2017
Again: precarious.
When blood remains, I see the world
tripping over the edge of the sword,
red and forgotten.
They drop, drop, drop--
balance.
And we fall endlessly.
[a poetry series by alice © 2017]
All Rights Reserved
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