“Where, does it, come from”




Beautiful wind,
Why come my way
Ah, you love, not one
Gifting visits around
The laughing ones—
In you—out you
Without you, what
I do—a serene macabre, and
Still....
My lungs ... though, full
Your gifting visits
Keep me—this soft touch—
Softening anguish
This fire, you, not,
Sustain of me
Die down … blow
A—way to
Cool and to
Vein-y Creeks






Written By, Darkest Angel
Written June 26, 2010