Beneath the quiet earth rest her cold bones and over the ground a tomb of snow white; no tawdry embellishments carve the stones the pale marble glistens in the moonlight. The nightingale pines for its long lost mate, does its heaving heart burst forth with pain? Is it singing sweet notes of love and death… Continue reading Her Grave | Poetry
Hand in hand, we sail to the edge of the wide world; And into the deepest of still waters all worries toss.
You fill the void in every paragraph - In my world's stage, you play all lives - A thousand deaths cannot strike you Like an ancient phoenix, you survive.