(a very long time ago. i praised bewtween
two great poets)

from a hill i caught the last verses
of Will Shapespeare
— a paintful story from a sistering vale,
so silky moment with no end this double voiced
accorded, and lay my head within the biggest bosom
of any woman: a sad-tuned tale; my perfection
is a twisted selection that tangles souls; above
her head barbettes and torques of misty streets
so ancient from then to now: a favour of plaits worn
on each side of the face.

beauty and love are not aligned.

it moves with seasons of eonic time.

:: 08..02.2020 ::

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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