Wind Chime Epiphany Poem by precia liz
Wind Chime Epiphany
Yesterday, I talked to one of your faces,
the one that is yellow as your dress.
Each moment, I swallow the overwhelmed breath,
with your Ivy poison at every edge.
There is blood on your hand,
the blood of mind murder.
Time will come back, again and again
with the anniversary effect of my pain.
Infact, oblivion is the gift of time,
but I prefer to listen to the wind chime.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/28/2024 2:46:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
