It’s archaic by my poemattic

What our souls are made of :☾ a rustic array of verses that whisper themselves through the centuries,and into the shallow depths of my heart. i will write until the sun meets the moon, i will write until the poet dies too soon.16☾︎ the swords i wield get stronger with every scar on my skin.beware,Continue reading “It’s archaic by my poemattic”

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