my winter becomes
the warmer of me
when i walk beyond
the ice and crust
of broken life-dreams
and i visit them
the silky ones
who fell between
my grasping means
weakling fingers

i confess my secret;
it is me and not they
who haunt the day

i am their purgatory
wishing, thinking,
a belief in now

I haunt the ghosts
and they fear me!

:: 10-04-2014 ::

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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