Stillness after war—hope hums low beneath the skin,dreams wait to be sung.
How does it work?
More stories from Test and writers in Poets and other communities.
Baby locs are here, tiny naps with grand ambition— crowned in coil couture.
By Test11 months ago in Poets
the problem with pain is we can only truly know our own in our attempts to understand others we compare it to historical data
By K.B. Silver 5 days ago in Poets
Green lights. Girls on bikes. Chortling exhausts. Rushing horns. Daylight slows. Night glow *** _____________________________
By Simon George4 days ago in Poets
Shenandoah Fantastic: Mystic Whispers from the Valley’s Vales is far from the first short story collection that I’ve contributed to*.
By Stephen A. Roddewig6 days ago in Writers
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