Dimly, Through A Looking Glass
Strange comfort comes from the thoughts I hold. Like weathered palms, deeply etched with every season past, these crackled daydreams bear…
Strange comfort comes from the thoughts I hold.
Like weathered palms, deeply etched with every season past,
these crackled daydreams bear the changes of childhood.
Faint reflections scrawled on the minds darkened wall,
wedded like wefts in the weave of the skein.
I see the child that once was me,
remembering a talk that I’d never had,
and fall prey to waking dawn’s deceit.
No white crosses will mark their passing,
just simple memories that drink from a sleepless night.