The ultimate ungraspable (III)
Too much, too soonNorthern winds
their ends met
and I lack soil
for my dead.
stirr my bones
and bruise my skin
from now on there can only be
autumn leaves
in me.
Welcome to my virtual den, please wipe your feet and leave reality at the door. You're in the realm of stories now...
Hey Stories, just dropping by to let you know that I gave you an award! Check out my last post to find out what its about!
ReplyDeleteLove the poem by the way! :)