a descent into poetry insanity |
| I wonder— what did they think? I see the marks of ancient hands, writing dreams and hopes on cave walls. my dreams are far away from Drakensberg, and when I mark my dreams with modern hands, my canvas is less permanent, but still, we both tell stories. I wonder— did they think of a future day when their memory would be turned into a poem? line count: 15 Author's Note ▶︎ |