|No one knows where but somewhere in the sky, I see your image.|
In this life, in this isolation.
|Where are you walking to, those legs? |
The burning feet. There aren't the roses anymore.
But stones they left.
There aren't the same faces.
The Stranger's land.
like memories coming through.
Coming through, like rays
coming through the patterns of leaves.
|Mommy, I miss you when I have to eat sandwiches all the times.|
Not liking this ! GRRR
|& I'll be SO lonely again. This painted Isolation. Ahhh. . . .|