quiet wooded path dried leaves patter as they fall crunch under my steps
the wind pulls at me twisting me into new shapes forcing me to change ******* Participating in tonight’s prompt over at Dverse, for me, when I think of November, I think of change. Whether it’s seasonal or political, I always need to adapt to something!
the siren song calls harmonizing with the dirge of those who listened
When I restarted writing poetry, the first poems I wrote were haikus.
cold, midnight blue seeping in, mouth nose ears eyes I’m filled to the brim