January thirtieth, two thousand eleven:
Incantations cannot linger in atmospheres
While conscious dreams guide our souls
Through the streets where we reminisce
Prior nights of befriending winter’s core.
Vulnerability greets its—gilded—demise
While laughter chants its neglected name
And no longer exists in our confinement.
Smoke does not emerge from the embers,
For it waits for its evanescent essence
To trace the infinite trails on the ground.
Will a wish free beauty from its chains?
Sunday Jan 1 @ 10:54pmtagged as: thoughts. poetry. photography. 365 Amalgams.
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Source: watercolortears
