Original poetrty by @dmilliz
The changing winds,
he was only 22, slept and never woke,
his body as cold as a morning
draped in pre-winter solstice.
And here I am complaining about living.
The creatures prepare for a sleep so deep,
fattened by the land that preserves.
I squat here deprived of sleep,
chasing dreams on digital clouds.
I grabbed a bunch of the latest photos on my iPhone 6 that I'd probably end up deleting, and made a poem. I call it photo dump poetry. Dump your photos an your thoughts.