Thoughts

 

 
177

Dismal thrust meandering
through ball of bitter grass,
saw horses roam erratically;
those bullets from my past.

And as the rose was crucified,
the spot where Soul locks fast,
so was the signal edge revised;
time held the fragile plant.

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/09/07/wordle-177/

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About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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