#1: A small whispy fog floors the common arms and remembers the clarity when in others gardens. Impressions are flutters in uniforms, each very lovely in our memories. Dying minds grimly desire help before the visibility is ended. Beside the lighted rainbows, with a soft laugh wrapped in silky wings, where time and atmosphere linger, will just become rage. This poem is MY original work. Thank you for checkin it out!!! [more]
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
no comments
