Ruin, Poetry by the Tale Teller Club for the Immersion Project
Ruin When sleep won't come the ghosts appear, they never left just disappeared for too short a time. I remember the old days when you were mine. What fun we had, crazy mad, and glad to be alive. The goodness died. The fabulous faded into jaded memories, tarnished stories, errors too loud to quiet in the night. The ghosts walk so tall, so proud, and we march with them to ruin © 2020 Tale Teller Club