short stories (Remove filter)
From doors of despair to my dear almighty
Make a painting with sweats,
And resins from plants ;sweets,
Bitters and thoughtful meets
To form its themes,
Weaved lining of lines,
Hardly the Magnum opus; it might,
But to feed it's beauty to flames,
Just to escape cold,
And warm hands!
Am I a meaningful painting
Or just a plaything
Lying like a firewood
With no good,
Isn't it you behind this, o almighty...
Wednesday 30th October 2024 11:02 am
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