The Converging Lines

I wrote the day with a broken pencil,
Cleaned the dust of sunlight with my hands,
My legs bled on the sharp footnote,
The ghost of past stood in the witness stand,
Beautiful words defaced by imagination,
Spit of wisdom fades the ink,
A lesson caught and dropped in the playground,
Murdering the truth with a casual wink.


Published by: flatlined84

A thinker outside the quarantine zone. The words on this blog will assault your senses, would make you curse in the holy name of Bard. If that's not enough, leave a piece of your mind in the comments section- the writer is on the dole and is always hungry.

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