Dust and Sunbeams: Holding onto What Made Us Home
I remember the scrape of the woody chair The pounding sound of the small woody mortar I held their pain and joy within my plaster skin The beautiful friendship with one's daily…
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Meaningless
A clock ticks down in an empty room Nothing in there to hold to judgement The fire burns out, and the smoke fades A circle of no impact in the void Forgotten words that no one…
![Utopías | Poesía [ES/EN]](https://images.hive.blog/768x0/https://i.ecency.com/DQmWSc8btR3rLNExA5jVhRJjZ7dBFV54rWcr4Yo7QsxKExn/1783382064932.jpg)
Utopías | Poesía [ES/EN]
La mejilla suele ser un pretexto; el puñal otro. La espalda, donde muchos ven la cicatriz, es solo un instante, el resto…
While the birds sing
While the trees Flourish and the flowers bloom The birds fly in a harmonic rhyme A jubilee for a season they await An invite for yet another dance They circle round an entire…
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