Unwelcome thoughts gather at the foot of slumber; giants of the subconscious imposing their will on this moment of quiet. No conformity with respect to a night of solace, they hover behind the steam of hot tea waiting to take their place within an open journal. The weight of their shadows press flowing tears upon the wrinkled papyrus; heavy words raising insidious revelations for their amusement.
Indeed…such thoughts are like giants…a perfect metaphor.
Uuu, this sounds like the moment before the climax of a writer into words. Awesome poem!
Am I the only one who can’t see the pictures when I click on the post but can when I am on the “homepage.” …?
it’s the way the theme is designed
Gotcha. Thanks.