Isle

Wait. Its circles and pears. Little brown wriggly hairs. Sitting feeling this steaming air, thin, gentle presses of them.

Centre to the Isle of might. Try, try as I fight.

Then escape from it all, to a place of light.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s