Writing helps me free my mind and create a private space in the noisy world.
In tresses of beauty, cascading like silk, Lies a world of wonder, as smooth as buttermilk. Each strand tells a story, a tale to unfold,
By Archibald2 years ago in Poets
Only pink threads embroider the moon's circle, But forget the rhythm of weaving in the heart. Tortured, lingering in deep sorrow,
