footprints…

footprints...

‘wet sand like quick sand of time… rowboat thirsty for drinkable water, in pain as salt licks its wounds, sea worms in tight where rusted screws no longer grip old wood; one rotted oar as a crutch, one survivor limped to shore; footprints, footprints, she sees’. to be continued… Cross stitching of the soul. Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread® © 2013

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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