Reach over
Desolate frigidity between white
Folds break the comfort
of soft darkness numbing like vodka.
the valley is - empty, no warmth remains
where once emission covered me
Nuzzling into my neck, arms clinging like love
no more the sun gently
touches
my eyes -- sullen, wandering, sighing
into the pitted chasm of - broken beating.
Foot slips out of protection
landing in reality - solidity - judgmentally.
Il n'est pas içi.
Il ne sera pas toujour içi.
Je l'ai deja vu.
A black void
opens -- I fall endlessly as the sun
rises to be so alone in his sky.
Standing naked.
My view of Literature: What I write and create, what I read and critique, what I see and hear.
You have entered the realm of a writer.
Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!
You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.
Peace and Love!
J Hart F
You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.
Peace and Love!
J Hart F
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