her hand…

her hand...

‘tide… rusting ship with pop holes from tired hands, knocking, knocking, trying to escape; she stands in the harshness of time; holds in her hand a paper thin remembrance of something’ . to be continued… Cross stitching of the soul. Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread® © 2013

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

2 comments on “her hand…

  1. Thanks, your work is too!!

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