weary dialect
you always taunt me with your said perfection
a crimson sunset carries more words then poetry ever could
And my mind races for the comfort of your revelation
but there i am in silence
So I creak clumsily among the floor boards that have always guarded me from the monsters in the basements. Where I've stored my imagination all these years, fearful of its findings;
it's fallacies;
the caravans of creativity that could wash the reason right out of me;
the beauty that She gave to me I've hidden in this in-oracy.
To become a silent legacy, but find I am no more than I'll ever be, lost and silent, poetically challenged me.
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