Hollow echoes travel through the cranial sockets of mind.A Poem by andrew mitchell
The mind was no more
a haunted inn where ghosts come and go, and the lamp of memories lit shine on until it flickers against time’s wand. With the hour glass broken the sand starts to pour in where the windows to the soul once filled with life now lie as eye sockets empty in the chill. © 2018 andrew mitchell |
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Added on August 22, 2018 Last Updated on August 22, 2018 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..Writing
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