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Literature Text
Red river sandcastles,
they drip with my blood,
staining everything.
Water rushes overtop but stains remain.
Catch a dream in the prairie air.
Giving up at a pin-drop.
A breath is a hug.
A breath touches the crying soul more than sorrow itself.
Dreams are gold.
they drip with my blood,
staining everything.
Water rushes overtop but stains remain.
Catch a dream in the prairie air.
Giving up at a pin-drop.
A breath is a hug.
A breath touches the crying soul more than sorrow itself.
Dreams are gold.
© 2014 - 2024 defajoey
Comments8
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Your imagery is lovely. I’m not poetic but there is a certain time each spring when the first warm breeze touches my face and I always think the same thought, the soft warm breeze feels like a kiss on the lips. 🙋🏼♀️🖍