Written by: nette onclaud

Her heart crashed on the stairway with a pound but not one star blinked to descend or touch the distant tremble as coal night grew long, as murmur signed through whispers down the floor. A trail of pages blew in feathered wafts yet imprints of their silence still remained. The words were gentle and addressed with love Delivered not, will clawed pain matter now? A woman lived alone and passed through clouds that no one tended how she glazed old weeds. The tunes of berry months were never hummed, as if the strings of twilight plucked a life The crashing stars, the page, and gentle weeds though shortened in presence, were not relieved; for time became a thief wearing cloaked breath like sighs untold in hushed tones to the breeze
for Debbie's Let Get Serious Contest by nette