Tangled vines of fate
press loosely against this feathered silhouette
embracing the emptiness
which consumes realities sun
parched from hydraulic hope of
iridescent illusions
blending shadows of grey sadness
into moments of dark despair
one last bloom of an aged shell
waiting
patiently
to be pruned
defenseless beauty
admired;
stolen~
used
for dreams




Don


11 old applause
