Repost — Hidden Paradise — The Ink Owl

A magical poem by a magical writer … 

 

Herein we find ourselves, Upon a broken ridge of baked clay. What wastes lie behind our worn soles, Each rock and dried root has been memorized. But now between two sloping mountainsides, Is a slice of what could only be paradise. Running water drips to fill a mind with madness, And from this rushing water […]

Hidden Paradise — The Ink Owl

 

 

 

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