My fantasies now dull,
I read non-fiction for spice-
Life told fantastic.
Painting by By Pieter Fris, 1650 (Sotheby's) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
My lips are sealed with The caulk of deaf ears. Born for this. Lessons to be learned as chapters Turned Over, like how to read our bodies ...