Beaches in Black
My words are your weapons. Every thought turned to speech. Every man becomes a spectator and all my whispers are screams. Waist deep in fresh water with no where to run. Eyes filled with salt water, skin charred in the sun .
Words pour from mouths like tea from a kettle. Black ink on paper we've lost sight of the quill. With the lack of a feather, dye flows on down stream. A variety of colors emerge some like shades in a dream.
Now we wait for the those verbs and nouns to take shape. We comfort one another with apologies and admittance of mistakes.
Words pour from mouths like tea from a kettle. Black ink on paper we've lost sight of the quill. With the lack of a feather, dye flows on down stream. A variety of colors emerge some like shades in a dream.
Now we wait for the those verbs and nouns to take shape. We comfort one another with apologies and admittance of mistakes.
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