we but the majority, witness canvas painted a'new, each stroke plucked like the feather of which dances upon the sky, each sunset for-seen, is yet a fainting memory, of an old ghost, which embodied a soul of iniquity. Sign in to see full entry.
aceblade's works for Wednesday, January 25, 2012
By aceblade - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry