Fair dance or death stroke
twilight burns in hearths and wilds
veiled in dawn's bright cloak.
About the Creator
Sawyer Scott
If I never pen great tales, I'll settle for being poetry.
Then in living my own life, I'll be writing my own eulogy.
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Our Song
Evening has given way to night. Gently, I settle next to you on the comfortable, old love seat and reach for your hand. You snatch it away, again. It cuts me to the quick, but I hide the pain, understanding that the reaction is but part of your demented state. Since the accident, your presence here in our cozy home has been clouded by a haze I can't see. Nevertheless, I feel the frigidity of your expressions and it serves as an excruciating reminder of the immeasurable distance between us.
By Dana Crandell5 days ago in Fiction
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