The paper blank, just like the beaming snow. The wood danced and slid across the page. The pencils grey, like the ash from a fire afterglow.
By Maisam Almrabat3 years ago in Poets
Quarantine has really got me thinking... I am locked up behind the bars of my home. The only place I feel safe in. At Least I am not locked up alone,
By Maisam Almrabat4 years ago in Poets