A yard where the night never dies
Somewhere upstream, follow the scent of lost lives. The silence eerie dawns the path,
you’ll find a garden that I once warden with a pitch of faith, two seeds of polymath
and a little bit of a fairy sight. You step straight on the line, where the night never dies.
And perhaps you cross collision with witches, warlocks, elves, even trolls eyes.
Each fictional mental position with an upsetting neuro-condition. You may try to win
the idea of gentle harsh kin, who handles drama and trauma as a scratch on her skin.
You’ll find it. Just a tiny piece of a bare yard where nothing blooms under the moon.
So I guess stranger, what I’m actually questing is if in those pockets is there any room?
Do you bring me, at last, some sunshine and green to this slumber to clear this bleak zoom?
I would like at least to pick up one of those to take home and have something in my bedsheet
besides the whiff of what I’ll need, and never once will I see.
Her name is Lara. She was born in 1984 and since childhood, this nomad has written about the worlds built up in her head. However, when she is too lazy to express herself in with words, she uses her simple drawing skill.