The art of survival is a story that never ends.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Poems 9, 10, & 11: Haiku Poem
The melody sings
through my own ears, I sense the
hearts blooming in August.
I waltz across stone
and find myself cold
in the blistering heat.
Fallen to the ground,
I feel the smooth, awake gravel
in a hug of dreams.
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