she tried to spin again that morn. her fingers now tattered, twisted and worn, she had come this far lengthened the space what must she do to erase his face. the spider is teased with yet more words are they from the heart or from the sorrow poured in more to fill the pot so does she calm then cry... Sign in to see full entry.
tales from the murky splurge:
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About this Blog
Poetry is about expression of thought. Sometimes the best work is the kind of stuff that just leaps up from within our soul. I write a lot about the murky splurge...This defines a place where we are are given the freedom to bare our souls in word but understand it is between the lines where most truth resides, In a world which has an abundance of love for all to share there is a whirlwind stirring. these words come out of a storm, but reader of my blog, please see although we write about many things, we may just mean another...well that is what the villagers said..... have fun.
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