refuge within the white walls of asylum
Tag: poem
bombs drop bodies drop death is constant
tree branch
taps the window
in rhythm
cold pale lips the pleasure is mine alone
between concrete cracks a sprout reminds us
breaching soil
the little green ones
find their way
oil puddle glints liquid gold
crows and barren trees a scene of terror
stoke the little ember
become fire
become buddha
bent spines and broken spirits winter reality
