Words never die
We live in the lines that they traced.
The winkles of time lost their face to fear.
The riddled of words that remain
so clouded the thoughts turn to rain, tears.
A babbling Brooke is not insane
A river that runs is such a shame to hear
No color just lost shades of grey
A shadow that won't hold its shape is a sphere
Copyright © joseph randall | Year Posted 2025
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