Through the windows of the odd
You'll find a sleeping man under a fruitless tree
casting shades of lonesome deeds
enriched by the pages of those who never died.
His passions were as others saw
As he was no other that could've been.
For it was common to see such a man
wandering below the fruitless tree.
But for him it was the sorrows in spring
begging for the tints of being seen.
For now, you see...
He sits alone,
enriched with dreams of even glee.
YOU ARE READING
collection of poems and short stories
PoetryPoems and short stories that I've written throughout my study of literature and writing. Hopefully you'll be able to see the progression of my craft. References to literature and artist are spread throughout the prose.
