With a poor cursed hand the late day began.
Yes he was framed as the smiling man.
And seen through odd filters.
Of her non rose tinted glasses.
Nothing was different there?
Or there?
Not even there?
The bag?
Lights danced.
Like friendly lightning.
Bringing inspiration in the form of light.
If sometimes blinding inspiration.
Circling without a home.
Looking for a way in.
No comments:
Post a Comment