Blood stains every gift
coats pressed to hide their intent
I rise to reclaim
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
I keep dreaming. Never the same place but always searching for Daddy. No words. No sound. Just a feeling that he went East.
By Test6 months ago in Poets
sit in the doorway peach trees foretelling their bloom last year’s jam on toast * I wait for the peach trees to bloom. The buds are swelled and fuzzy, a soft pale green.
By Natalie Wilkinson5 days ago in Poets
Only some will make it Others will never be seen All we know is that they are written by someone behind a screen
By Christopher Beard5 days ago in Poets
Two and a half centuries ago, The muck of the Iwandapowa swamp parted. A great eye socket emerged, and blinked the cake of the terrain away.
By Noah Husband7 days ago in Fiction
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