The children will never know
How the ocean used to flow
They'll never miss the whales
They'll never believe the tales
But I will remember, I will tell
Of all that lived and their great farewell
The children will never know
How the ocean used to flow
They'll never miss the whales
They'll never believe the tales
But I will remember, I will tell
Of all that lived and their great farewell
If memories were ink
If these pages could think
Then I would burn it all
Then I would rather fall
-Part of my Wings of Pages series
If memories were ink
If these pages could think
Then I would burn it all
Then I would rather fall
-Part of my Wings of Pages series
The hungry ghosts rise through the roots,
longing to be seen, to be felt,
to ride the current of blood and memory.
They howl through the body,
wearing old faces like masks,
not to possess, but to remind.
—-
Prints: artofmaquenda.etsy.com/listing/4321...
#art
The hungry ghosts rise through the roots,
longing to be seen, to be felt,
to ride the current of blood and memory.
They howl through the body,
wearing old faces like masks,
not to possess, but to remind.
—-
Prints: artofmaquenda.etsy.com/listing/4321...
#art