Wanda Brayton About Me Page at Helium

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Meaning of life: 46 of 193

Tread Softly Entangled by the feast, we forget we are spirits meant for better things than separation. I imagine your dark eyes as they crease in silent, restrained laughter - we become warriors against a clear blue sky, standing undivided by circumstance; we seek each other with ferocity, a subtle edge of guilt frayed by doubt. The weary sun has settled into the landscape's embrace; it has been parched for centuries, it seems. The moon weeps effervescent tears in streams of pale light - shrouded by fog - her ache is palpable. We are ferocious in the pursuit of this folly, purchasing mere ...
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