I light a lamp to watch the summer fade The purpling heavens light their lamps in kind In August’s final breath is autumn made
By Jennifer Giacalone5 years ago in Poets
Michelangelo hated painting. When he painted the chapel, he did so cursing, Grumbling With clenched teeth Writing poetry to the onerousness of his
Where Arith sits, atop the stone cliffs, he can see well across the grey water. The sea sings its song. Sometimes Arith thinks about jumping in.
By Jennifer Giacalone5 years ago in Futurism
"You needn't hide your wings from me, angel," a voice says next to him. He knows this one. Known him for millennia. He's not interested. "I don't tend to uncase them in public."
By Jennifer Giacalone5 years ago in Humans
