poised deep inside the clutter.
Wisps of light are floating in,
beneath the crooked shutters.
Flushed against a wrinkled hall
are never-ending labyrinth walls,
tangled thick in thorn bush lies,
Tread softly on my hungry eyes.
Photo Credit: Daniel Southard
Madison, more exquisite verse. Have you ever thought of setting your poetry to music?
ReplyDeleteTred softly on my hungry eyes, my broken heart, my listless soul, my hopless destiny. How perfection is in your poetry is such a mystery to me, but it just lingers here and reaches out and grabs my anckle as I tread lightly by.
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