08-11-2015, 07:44 AM
In a field full of the ghosts of wheat,
worked dry of everything it was meant for,
She stands.
She would sit,
but staring at the way the light catches the dry grass
and the way it skitters off the floating dust takes a certain
angle.
She sways without meaning to, her feet firmly anchored to the
moving ground.
Everything has changed.
worked dry of everything it was meant for,
She stands.
She would sit,
but staring at the way the light catches the dry grass
and the way it skitters off the floating dust takes a certain
angle.
She sways without meaning to, her feet firmly anchored to the
moving ground.
Everything has changed.
Sometimes I feel like writing poetry and sometimes I watch Netflix. No judging.