Khronos, god of time,
A sacrifice I present,
To change the clock's hands.
How does it work?
More stories from Victoria Turnbull and writers in Poets and other communities.
Dirt beneath our nails, Victorious we all stand, Terra we defend.
By Victoria Turnbull3 years ago in Poets
They urge me, “say it with more feeling!” As if it isn’t my very feelings that are the culprit for this stoic numbness As if it isn’t my very feelings that I’m drowning in
By Mikayla Rose6 days ago in Poets
“Quack!” said the duckling Tail wags made him lose balance Slow fall and quick yelp
By Marianne Lee5 days ago in Poets
Across the street from my house, a man slept under a tree, his dog by his side. My first, naive thought: he must be traveling through. But he kept coming back, often sleeping there during the day. Then it hit me—that person might not have a home.
By Bride of Sound5 days ago in Humans
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