Vulnerable
Mourning certainty— no longer sure of my thoughts... Longing for plain truth.
Mourning certainty— no longer sure of my thoughts... Longing for plain truth.
Moonlight on the waves Like liquid silver rolling endlessly to me.
Pumpkin on my head... Why is that darn thing up there? I don't know—do you?
Changing falling leaves, are you sad that it's over, dying in color?