Without Words
Ghosts without faces cross paths without wordsSad, silent places, frost on breathless fields
Fall awake inside another form too late
Cross the hearts that hide themselves apart from fate
Demons wrestle for those thoughts we fear
Just in time to watch them reappear
Upon these pages written in piecemeal code
The fever rages as feelings real errode
Into,
Ghosts without faces
Sad, silent places
Frost on breathless fields
Cross paths without words
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 237 times
Written on 2021-11-05 at 00:00
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