The Eldest Sage

Joejohn Black
Nov 11, 2022
Word prompt image generated by author w/DreamStudio

My tat woven heart cedes
here abodes, no more for me.
Hence this hinterland haunt
upon aged bared limbs
less forgotten felled leaves.
Mourn severe December
nurture April, and sojourn in her tears.
Then I’ll yearn and recall
why I’ve sown all these years.



Joejohn Black

Now dissecting thoughts and emotions, pinning words, then commentary to the facets, curating and sharing them as legends of my being. Then they’re on their own.