The evening came softly.
I spoke to the sky and wondered.
Someone dropped a stone in the river.
My eyes began to spill.
I let the water fall.
Now there is an ocean.
Something walks down below.
The world is a blurry place.
A cool wind blow-dries my eyes.
What a curious surprise.
Hey cat below my window!
About Me
- Noah Price
- A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul" - Soren Kierkegaard
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