At the End of the Road, At the End of the Day
After Angella Voras-Hills
fallen green apples here and there
at a dead end, the yard is
where in the story lies an
ending, the life I lead an illusion
a collage along the road of
broken houses bathed in light
a quiet moment, a lament when
the day bleeds into colors
and all my realities and dreams connect
There is an illusion of light when the colors connect.
from an Angela Voras-Hills poem.
(Golden Shovel Form)
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