Creative Writing

My Brew Today

If all myself and every side could brew like coffee in a cup on a dry dreary death bent silent room then mine brews over there where spillages show teardrops of Monday, fading yet true. 

The wind, a choice, glides in strides of striking size where smoke and steam are friends, a sight where smells are tunes of rising fumes that twist the mind and lean towards the skies where crimes are historical events, where dreamers battle on. 

15/12/2020

About Author

Sam Gordon Webb



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