A window from the past,
crinkled like fine silk, wrapped and shoved to the side,
worn and dusted-faded
Just as this sepia memory brings to mind
Its...We are tattered,
ripped-a fleeting moment,
glimpsing back to a vivid life
Colors piercing, smells enticing
But its dull-
Crunched between time and innocents
But it is just a paper with us slapped on it
Its a Rough Draft...
That is destined to never be
Rewritten
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment