Besides the morning, laying beside
carved within you a grand mouth
of the mourning speaking-Sun
beams brilliantly singing
how she prepared this day;
(sentiments are nice)
“The dead, but loved,”
are sputtering in the fields
as fireflies, the sunlit-bowl!
i could only reply, “to speak
of that age of skyfilled Sprites
and when fog was dragon’s breath!”
And are the rivers still bleeding?
Last fall’s snow still remains
as so many things within the air,
still; wishes, dreams, kisses,
and entirely collapsed spirits.

:: 07-27-2015 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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