How strange to hear echoes
When no one is talking.
Strange to see you
Framed in ash lines on the wall.
An old memory
Sick with sun
Curled at the edges.
Almost forgotten.
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
How strange to hear echoes
When no one is talking.
Strange to see you
Framed in ash lines on the wall.
An old memory
Sick with sun
Curled at the edges.
Almost forgotten.