abstract
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Left strewn about dark While sadness, carried in eyes empty, unbecomes. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Lie beneath in the End. Drown out muffled echoes Of the living dead. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Somewhere, watching the sunset through the vast black void, these eyes open wide. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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These notes out of key. Who knew middle c could be Such a mystery? Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Lacking exactness, What I wouldn’t give for some High fidelity. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Odin’s blood payment, Half his sight given for the Allfather’s knowledge. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Cog and gear given To most inquiring children. Foundations are built. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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This little notebook, Weighed down over time with ink, Its blank pages stained. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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Flimsy garden fence With quivering shake it stood, Holding back the wind. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
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This mind turns over All the possibilities, Working hard in vain. Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 