A Mini Poetry Blog
Softly, in the mist of moonlight, a woman is singing to me, black feet-long hair with a smile so genteel; taking me back down the vista of years, still I see a child sitting behind the grand oak tree, accompanied by the drowsy eyes of blooming leaves, and harbored within a thousand impossible dreams, when…
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I dream of pain, too, of violence, of despair, and suicide. Then wake up knowing, sometimes reality is much merciful than dreams. I tear up my heart into flakes of icy snows, that I may remember how it all began. there was an eclipse and I misplaced my eyes to the blood in the moon, a…
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The Modern Etiquette 