#WritcoPoemPrompt121
Your notes,
Are the only things I have,
The words are like Stream of consciousness.
Dreams that run without the consent of the eyes
Paralyzing the heart in just few minutes of lofty desires,
Like a myrrh it annoints and plants the wounded self
In slow remorseless life, I lead here.

Dancing on the grey green mossy boughs of an old rain tree ,
Are the blushing winds
The late...