Poems from Ljhenry
Out of a bag,
Oh, the canvas now,
Is cracked and
As memories fade, the lining rips
And
Oh,
The stitches don’t hold
Living out of a bag...
From the first coherent sentence,
there have been ink-stained hands
leaving prints on select souls and few regrets
using points and keys to...
If the flames burn auburn in the chill of the night
Patient rests my soul, for the eve of first light
Notice not I, the cold that endures...