Angst Cycle:
The Door

A door was never really opened
just enough to trap my heart.

Watching wind blow rain around,
white foam build shapes of Henry Moore,
green trees hide sky from eyes below,
humid sleep and light too bright.

Grey wind blow rain around.

image: poem


arts & ego
dish dosh
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image: set Hear

The Door
I've Always Had Steep Mountains
Watford Gap
Why Is England So Full Of Fools
So I Dream

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