Tag: I have never felt more alive then in the grass:

By Nichole Davies The Cave There is a cave. A cave full of paintings of old. They ripple through the water as memories written on walls; sharp like the pointed minerals, echoing with the deep pool in the blackness; Dark, desolate, with them she awaits. There among the stale air and weeping ceilings, a remnant … Continue reading The Cave and Other Poems