@ravsomm
Ripples casting out,
from the centre of my life,
becoming nothing.
About the Creator
B. M. Wissell
Pilgrim soul with a crooked grin
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More stories from B. M. Wissell and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Lesions of Devotion
Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.
By Paul Stewart7 days ago in Fiction
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