Who knew those detached words could conjure silent vows― flaming― fide et amor ― nothing lasts forever―
Willow trees up high bend amid ancient knowledge shared softly by antique winds. Through attained wisdom they mature, strong and certain, enchanting the bygone winds
I wondered where those roads, in which the world diverged, became the promises of another life, the hilly embankment that touched the horizon in tranquil virescent spikes, splattered with hazel lines, that conquered truth and candour.
We swim against― our own sweet moments― lapping the hours in expanded pleasures that swagger away― our wilting sentience― pretending to be― existent―
You wrapped your wings against my soul, calmly cascaded tears into eternal waters, where I sat in solitude, waiting ephemerally, for those hours of lost comfort once again, how long ago did sleep become such an end?
The Tuesday Seamstress said our souls were sewn apart. Delicate embroidered tomorrows travelled without a start.
