Tai Ryens > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

From wherein the angel's heart does malice brew so cold?

odysseys quested through memory, forging the ghosts of wandering pirates . . .

Clustered graves infatuate the apathetic me, prettied by rhapsodies of blushing daffodils.~

if only i could not peer once more, and find you are leaving, yet again . . .

Nonexistence, oh, how you were so crude . . .

The graceful butterfly singers glided among dwindling crescendos . . .

Not sure about this. Not my usual style.

I'd merrily unstitch those lips . . .

Love me, please, as you used to: with mutters of lifelong promises . . .

Glass telescopes operated from terminals . . .