That voice so faint and distant, whispering through words, which roil and roll in mind; Where are you meant to be? How can there be an answer, when nothing is defined, nor made clear by life as to where one is meant to be? Is there indeed a meant, or, is there just a succession of moments strung along the wire of this existence? Where sits sullen, while in shadowed wait is Who, and curled asleep in the corner is What, and they do not speak.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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