So…here we go again with the whole poetry thing… In long-dead ground a flower grows, In frozen mud and old, old snows. Empty houses…lived in, Wind through bones…like breath. Bloodless hearts to beat again, Could love undo death? A forsaken cross, An empty tomb, A curtain torn in two, The greatest price to mend...
About Me
Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated.