Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Adjacent to useless in the dead of frozen light, a cold slab of granite unworthy of a headstone or the pause for which it was crafted. Mistaken placement, or perhaps context changed, avenues widening as interests tangled, branches extending into the choked gray. Steps less common, grins lesser so, the reaper’s season robs dreams of leisure, of warmth, and the scattered crackle of misspent vitality skitters by, carried on a blind God’s exhale; a trick of woven fates conspired to draw each day into a year of solitude. #winter #bench #tree #cold #poem #poetry #literary_imagery1 #literary_original #writer #writing (at Purposeless)

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