Maria Mocha's Creative Writing & Photography Blog

Flying rids dust particles

from between creases,

hidden within the cloth,

hanging against the window.

Certain memories too painful

of their purpose for being

plague the room with terror,

with angry dreams of regret.

Winter air blows through,

stirring the stale atmosphere

by silently bellowing the cries,

of an innocent sufferer of neglect. 

–by Maria Mocha © 2006