Like a wasp in the middle of four woodland corners Wings spreading wide to the deep open reeds Counting the rings bears the age of the tree The counting of sheep is the wasp coming clean
At first Autogenesis, the first perfect mind Awakening sleepers to the passage of time Highlands all golden and the smoldering sage Turn out the sun at the turn of the age...
Poetry by Blake Ford Hall
Poetry by Blake Ford Hall
Uncovering tombs Washed up in the flood Trans-current crossover Uplifting the crust
Poetry by Blake Ford Hall
Homeless puppy
Your government knows, all faerie tales are true, Your government knows magick, Do you?