Behind The Crimson Door
In the hands of fate we lay upon these thoughts...
Again and again the climatic memories unfold.
Time's last hope, love's last kiss
Have all since then perished.
Do you understand yourself?
Wait! But, what is to be left?..
What lies behind the crimson door.
About the Creator
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More stories from Lacey Burke and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶2 days ago in Petlife
Comments (1)
Your words touch the soul deeply.