After midnight, when my inner voice
is whispering in tongues,
I remember that the poets of new thought
are forever in the future.
I never hear what’s said,
only echoes of what isn’t.
~⊕~
After midnight, when my inner voice
is whispering in tongues,
I remember that the poets of new thought
are forever in the future.
I never hear what’s said,
only echoes of what isn’t.
~⊕~