Perched on dark oak
Gold eyes scan the world below
Snowy owl takes flight
Let me out! 🐺
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More stories from Candy Hart and writers in Poets and other communities.
I feel like a used book that you only picked up because you liked the cover. You ran your fingers along my spine then decided I was good enough to take home. But when you opened me up and realized how tattered my pages were you tried to return me at once.
By Candy Hartabout a year ago in Poets
My feet sink into the wet sand as the tide flushes by, covering everything in disappearing crystals of warm ocean. I’m running, I think, and the spray clings to my ankles, obscuring my legs from the lens.
By Maura Bernstein4 days ago in Poets
The moon leans low on silver beams, Unraveling the quiet of our dreams. Stars like whispers, soft and slight, Carry the secrets of the night.
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Been thinking a lot about drinking, lately. Not least because of a recent episode of over-indulgence and the inevitable after effects. Some readers may recall the earlier articles I wrote about beating the booze. Here I set out an experiment in techniques for cutting down on my alcohol intake. The experiment was successful, the techniques worked, and I have armed myself with an arsenal of weapons in the war against the demon drink. I have yet to fire the first round however. It's all a question of timing (perhaps procrastination).
By Raymond G. Taylora day ago in Psyche
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