We live in glass orbs,
Ballerinas suspended in the absence of music
Waiting for our turn to dance.
-Autumn
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHireath: (n) A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. For the home I haven't yet returned to. ***************************** A book of poems and the occasional response to writing prompts. Or both. My es...
Snow Globes
We live in glass orbs,
Ballerinas suspended in the absence of music
Waiting for our turn to dance.
-Autumn
