Prosetry
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Lost in the mansion…by G. Mramor
There is a little boy of ten screaming and wailing at the doors of death
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It came to me sunday…by G. Mramor
It came to me sunday as I was climbing the stairs
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And she sits there…by G. Mramor
And she sits there and takes the bumps and the shakes as they come, part of…
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And to the brave girl…by G. Mramor
And to the brave girl who writes a wrinkle on a moist page: ‘where is eternity?’…
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Can you move on, beyond doubt?…G. Mramor
Can you move on, beyond doubt? Askant of a shimmurring sky: is this me, is this…
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She was born to know the water…by G. Mramor
She was born to know the water. Although she always knew, that she was below the…
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She has a pretty face…by G. Mramor
She has a pretty face, and she wears her hat backwards far back, soft brunette streams…
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Taking Shots Alone – Poems by P Chatelain
Author’s note: This is an attempt at documenting silent musings oft-ignored. Please consume responsibly. 1 let’s…
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