One–she prays alone, each day, each night, each dawn, at each table, seat by empty chairs which wait for him–song, his song–his memory, which, upon release, soared high into a waiting sky–sung, with a single voice and melancholy bell and darkened timbre, last, one final time–a song perhaps forgotten. -M. Duda This is inspired by […]
Published on April 09, 2015 09:40