Poems from quiversarrow
Every year
two children wandered up the hill behind my house,
holding hands as children do.
And every year
I watched them settle beneath...
Do you want to see into my mind?
There is no darkness there
As you may think.
The world around me dimming
Trees shoot up from the ground...
I would say that writing is
bleeding from the soul
a release of ideas from the back of the mind
an escape for oneself
where judgment...