Mutated Muse
murder the notion of nostalgia
I need no October this year
there are enough echoes
to wander through memories
could it be that some
are incompatible to life
would that I could
wash the stain of pain
from pale and wrinkling skin
if flesh is merely a mask
what then lies beneath
an old soul tires eventually
semi-recumbent
I humbly allow books to take the lead
down the hall of slumber I crawl
to nestle with words
Poetry©Words Among Trees
Image - Pixabay - free domain
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