Beneath the oak's embracing shade,
A weathered box, secrets laid.
Paper whispers, ink-stained sighs,
Echoes of hearts and distant skies.
Each envelope a story told,
In words of silver, penned in the gold.
A tale of the love, or sorrow's crest,
Folded neatly, heart at rest.
Through storms of life, and calmest days,
The letter box, it faithfully stays.
A keeper of dreams, hopes confessed,
In ink that lingers, hearts undressed.
Oh, letter box, with rusted latch,
Guardian of souls, no strings attached.
Hold close these whispers, the tales untold,
In your embrace, our stories fold.
About the Creator
Isra
Versatile writer skilled in both tale & stories. Captivate readers with engaging content & immersive narratives. Passionate about informing, inspiring, & entertaining through words.
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Smartystan
Flags flew freely in the summer breeze. They consisted of a gray and white brain against a black background. Scales of gold sat just beneath the image of the organ. The sun rose at just the zenith and shared its light and warmth with the attendees to one of the country-states’ greatest accomplishments: the graduation of two women who had been in a halfway house and found their passions for art design and communications. Mala and Sheltham looked on with sunglasses and cheered the graduates. With the knowledge they had months to go before being up on that stage, they looked at each other and grinned. After the ceremony, they walked into a pizza restaurant that fit their budgets.
By Skyler Saunders3 days ago in Chapters
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