living is a risk
if you’re a poet
solitude is the writer’s
drug…
when hands shake
and we burn
through our time
our fingerprints
fade
like the short lives
of sunflowers..
we become
phantoms
or forgotten
embers
living is a risk
if you’re a poet
solitude is the writer’s
drug…
when hands shake
and we burn
through our time
our fingerprints
fade
like the short lives
of sunflowers..
we become
phantoms
or forgotten
embers