Hard was the shell of pale skin
which encased his brittle bones
tightly
like desert-dried plaster
on the gnarled branches
of a dying tree.
Advertisements
Advertisements
Hard was the shell of pale skin
which encased his brittle bones
tightly
like desert-dried plaster
on the gnarled branches
of a dying tree.
Never, oh! never, nothing will die... (Alfred Tennyson)
TemptationOfWords
by Lize Bard
A Podcast About the Writing Life
Welcome to my world.
"Diving into a writers soul is discovering the broken treasure and beautiful mysteries that make you gasp for air."
Word-Experimentalist
"Eye Fly High"
The Deluge in a Paper Cup
WELCOME TO om3ssa's MUSIC FREAKISHNESS AT THE WORLD WIDE WEB
by Evelina Di Lauro
Paradigm Shift, Mindfulness, and Personal Empowerment
But Still Living The Life
living better, spending less
Conjured by Sarah Doughty
Oh! Take a shit, read a story. - My Mother on flash fiction
"Die Kunst ist eine Tochter der Freiheit." - Friedrich Schiller
Trancension's VoiceBox
we are fish that play in a sea of light
Critical. Crazy. Catastrophic.
“The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.” — Gustave Flaubert
Lessons learned in motherhood
Puking up Poetry, One Verse at a Time
