slight palms to catch the morrow

lonely now

as was

back then

in flagrant




at odds

with what

to do

in stead

still crouched

in wounds

of death;

so trampled


on skins

of life

a tread

that bears

no gold,

and wait

once more

for sun

to shed

in hopes

of rays

to hold..

About lifeofawillow
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