by Isabel Rhodes
They call me Maiden of the Night,
but I crawled out of the sun.
Celestial fluids dripped from my wings,
blisters marred my cheeks and bloody welts
rose out of my skin, Continue reading
by Isabel Rhodes
They call me Maiden of the Night,
but I crawled out of the sun.
Celestial fluids dripped from my wings,
blisters marred my cheeks and bloody welts
rose out of my skin, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry, Young Writers Edition
by David Rogers
Regret–
that was the real original sin
The river flows a different way
To paddle against it for long is folly
Hummingbird and mockingbird
nest on branches Continue reading