Time shifts, your hope screams; Quarantine your love, your dreams. Weep for the unseen.
By Annie Bloomabout a year ago in Poets
You lived within seventy miles. From a small town population of less than a thousand to another. Seventy miles over fifty years.
By Annie Bloom2 years ago in Fiction
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Neither was there the chilling ache of winter , nor the bodies lining the cobblestone streets.