SHAKEN NOT STIRRED BY KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD In an evening transcending; a lonely heart not adjusting as the rabbits play at chasing shadows in flat mottled grass. Warbling of self righteousness fragile screaming in mourning echoing within a mirrored eye the abominable crispy breath. Flame to the wick ignited but the candle dreams of darkness entombed within subtle empathy grasp at Angels drifting so high. Pastel orbs traversing souls a percolated sadness avowed my mutation reeks of intensity of a journey shaken not stirred.
0 Comments
|