Dishes and cups and cutlery disgraced the tables
like dead flowers among graves. Even the food,
which at one point during the night lived
and breathed with blooming colors, now
sat in half eaten morsels, little sad, dead things,
almost ghostly, yet so totally devoid of spirit.
YOU ARE READING
ECSTASY
Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
