With very few exceptions, none of my poems undergo any sort of revision whatsoever. Just touch and go. Which is probably why I suck...
The only exceptions I do specify in the
description what I've edited.
Quite possibly the wisest of all navels. The light that bounces off of it comes away with sadness and gold.
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.
Heroes are not meant to survive, and I've lived far too long for that.
We all know how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.