It was just her ghost.A Poem by andrew mitchell
Under the covers
of her page lay a heart empty, her thoughts lean against a tree waiting, a shadow of hands create a moment waving goodbye, her soul boards the train, amongst the clouds the station disappears, a pendant lies on the ground, dead against time now memories. © 2021 andrew mitchell |
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Added on June 15, 2021 Last Updated on June 16, 2021 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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