time,
it lay still,
on a bed of
cool white linen,
a breeze
sweeps through the
window.
gently
it brushes the
skin of a pale white
virgin.
she screams and cries
and beckons in stress.
unheard,
unnoticed,
we never heed her warnings,
yet she comes to our door,
with letters over a million mornings.
each word and paragraph in wind,
of our meek and beautiful end.
wwwooaah..you wrote these? theyre really goodxx
http://www.arealityofdreams.wordpress.com
Yes, I wrote these. Thanks
I’m glad you like them.