Indifferent afternoon washing over all that the eye can see
Golden hour blanketing the world in the quiet that you can only find in your mother’s eyes
The beautiful stillness that not even poetry can buy.
Nothing dies here.
All the graves are empty and we’re all asleep on our grandmother’s couch, cousins sleeping scattered around us
For a little while at least,
There is peace.
@bastard_poet on ig and @bastardpoet on twitter