Terence An

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Loneliness is but an ever present soul,
But always restless in its ill-fitting mold,

And I will overlook the massive sea,
Too Late
You found her over the hill,
You found her past the woods.
Your Youthful mind joys to ask
To walk the long way if she would,
An Heirloom For The Audacious
It is an heirloom for the audacious,
A foray into valor.
The scar, like water, carves canyons
Out of flesh so coarse and callous.


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5/10/2021 7:46:16 PM #