Witherland

Witherland

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WpMetadataNoticeLast 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]
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Poems from every walk of life, from beginning to end, and the birth and death of love.

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