I can see it swirling all around me...screaming, wailing and shrieking. I can see it breaking down the flimsy ivory walls of my refuge. Breaking them into shards of shimmering white.Like glass.I lie fingering the broken pieces.The windchime dances wildly. In ecstatic frenzy.
I feel a strange sense of ennui. Despite the storm.
Does it even matter anymore? I wonder.
3 comments:
I like the picture painted...rather the series of pictures painted.:-)
i guess it doesn't matter...it feels better to imagine it doesn't, anyway!
Post a Comment