poetry

tempests

Friendship is too small a word for this which we share, as has love proven too unsound a home for us, tho its russet bricks remain– surviving even our tempests’ furious bluster.

Published by

Eric

I've come to write.

10 thoughts on “tempests”

    1. I sometimes wonder if another language or culture has the words to define those things that English cannot, tho perhaps, it is best left undefined, and I’d link to the piece I wrote titled, ‘undefined’, but I deleted it from the blog and sent it to Crash-and-Burn Publishing House. A mistake, perhaps. Here, it might be read.

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