Biography of David Adesrael
Every poem here is an unfinished work in progress, probably never to be finished.
You are more than welcomed to finish them in the comments section.
Nunc scio quid sit Amor...
Os, lingua, mens, sensus, vigor
Read between the messy lines,
that's what apathy said.
Those small spaces were divine,
but too much for my head.
Letter after small letter,
ink fusing to paper,
black, discordant and fettered
wishing this light shone better.