Letting go,
We travel in this darkness.
This soaking sun has gripped me now
In deep, salt-watered pores.
You cling to me,
Breaking through voids
With thoughts that dark hearts bleed better.
There is hidden love.
Unknown creatures learn their limits.
I see a young girl with a free soul
And in the sand, you sank.
We became the sea.
Doubting existence
And consuming weak souls
An aura too gentle
That delicate curse.
She cries.
The wolf howls with hot breath in the night,
Immersed with delusion,
Finding a single moment of feeling one's intensity.
About the Creator
b. h.
the lost words of b.h.
The Tango Connection
I suppose I've become a writer so I wouldn't bore everyone to death telling them my stories. Reading them is reading. Not the same. There's rhythm. And timing and, most importantly, drama and suspense. Unless you have tremendous magnetism and an undeniable stage presence, there's no way you can engage an audience the way you can by writing your story. That's my opinion.
By Rene Volpi 3 days ago in Beat
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.