Images derived from the sufferings of troubadours
Color drained and reflection of loathsome self in his words
Credit absent to the one who created all
But they are only words
Words flushed down the drain so easily
Forgotten as a moment passing
Eaten by a black crow
spit up a mile down the beach
never digested
Could even one give root?
could even one bear fruit?
the world applauds
A new day in the horizon
Pictures inspired from 
@d-pend/every-day-a-many-razored-wreath
Oh, I pray for the dawn.
At a loss of words.
