Someone else decided our fate
because surely the boy that walked out that door wasn't you.
He looked so much like you,
but it couldn't have been you,
right?
About the Creator
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More stories from Elizabeth Kefauver and writers in Poets and other communities.
Winter Up High
Upon the North, where winter holds its sway, The frigid nights descend with solemn grace, A silent, diamond dust along the way, And moonbeams carve the shadows of the place. The wind, a ghost that whispers through the pines, Doth chill the very breath that leaves the lip, The ground is bound by frosted, silver lines, And stars, like scattered jewels, their vigil keep. The long dark hours demand a sheltered rest, Where firelight dances on the hearth's warm stones, And weary souls are welcomed to the nest, To chase the biting cold from blood and bones. Yet in this chill, a stark, pure beauty lies, Reflected in the vast and endless skies.
By Vinn Blacka day ago in Poets
Rachel Reviews: The Spiral Archive by Pieter Hendrik
It's difficult for me to know where to start with a review of this book as it was, for me, an entirely unique experience and one that I'll probably never have again. I don't want that to be interpreted as unenjoyable but it has left me scratching my head a little and ruminating on its content, its themes and its characters.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in BookClub
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