I write because I read. I read because I write.
The burning ball seating proudly at the highest height, burns the stoned alley towards a home without a light. There a nameless man lives with no living thing but himself. Surrounded by less non-breathing things, to him was left. Once he was known as a dashing bachelor, until a deceitful woman snatched his valor. Now he lives… Continue reading Nelipot
Ode to Old-ies ©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer Their crowns aren't made of gems that don't fade. Theirs are mix of greys and whites, no glitters, just wise lights. So as the dusk of dawn erases their minds wits, as their neurotic lawns be filled with dried twigs, to respect and love them we musn't forget,… Continue reading Ode to Old-ies
