Walking, I had to bend,
to remove a thorn that gently pricked.
A nostalgia, an empty bench.
A winding road...A distilled memory at every bend.
Though a path is trodden every day,
though the silence breathes,
though the wood in a silence wraps me around,
silence is not peace.
21 Dec. 2016
to remove a thorn that gently pricked.
A nostalgia, an empty bench.
A winding road...A distilled memory at every bend.
Though a path is trodden every day,
though the silence breathes,
though the wood in a silence wraps me around,
silence is not peace.
21 Dec. 2016
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