4. Catalyst I hear the shrill of the wind that sings the - TopicsExpress



          

4. Catalyst I hear the shrill of the wind that sings the dirge in a low cadence, as it sweeps away into oblivion the crispy bones of mellowed leaves littered in my garden. I know not the chemistry of the formation of tears in my eyes, which slowly trickle down through the furrow of my cheeks like streams of fickle mercury. Be it my trees that shed the autumnal leaves or my eyes that shed the infant tears. I now conclude... That the mellowed Autumn and my moist Eyes are mere catalysts of this uncanny phenomena. [FROM THE PAGES OF MY NEXT BOOK THE BROKEN SYMPHONY]
Posted on: Sun, 11 May 2014 13:25:53 +0000

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