My tears screamed
to the floor
shattered like glass
My breath rode
the tail of a memory
until its being was no more.
My lips sought shelter
attracted to the light
and darkness
My eyes close
lids gently surrender
We sleep.
Cold tiles a relief from existence.
Reflections on Canadian Culture From Below the Border
What happens in my life in a somewhat hopefully maybe coherent format.
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If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. (William Blake)
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essays on stuff that interests me
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Italian Adventures
maker of images
“My tears screamed to the floor” = great imagery. Love the pic too.
Thanks for taking the time to comment. It is so much fun sharing outside of your own mind…
What a picture!!!!