paper flag

House of Heart

TheseĀ  hours that

rhapsodize the night

carry the scent of scandal

or the aroma of summer

fruit that fails to ripen.

This fragile nest where we

fly our paper flag seems

nothing more than

spider silk fragmenting.

We offer our hearts to a cold blade,

Plunge blindly from the highest cliff.

We are all sinners, every last one of us; it is only the good in us that wishes we weren't. So don't harm that good, no matter how small.

Art by Angela Taratuta

View original post

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s