He’s Scribbled Something – Poem

It would be your tortoised mind That held you safe while we fell. But what have you survived to? Hills and hopeful shepherds stand, Preparing for the final Puzzle piece to place itself. Going home is wearying, For dictators and the saints. Who'd be an indoors human? Candlelit dinners devoured Only the wicks remain now, … Continue reading He’s Scribbled Something – Poem

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