To Ink
Sunset turns to ink splotchCarousels of violet shadows stutter trees
Burst into bloom dreams on the hook
Woven with fabrics of regret to lose
Yourself in leaves and weaves together selves
Of now or ever will be not
Fading lights and lines watch
Sunset turns to ink splotch
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2017-03-09 at 00:26
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