Posted in Poems


She pulls the veil aside,

dim glimpses of a fragmented existence.

She watches

the garbage man emptying the bins,

the dance of autumn leaves across the pavement,

the thump of the wind against the glass.

She hums, sips her coffee,

then lets the veil fall back.


-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”



I am the author of and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

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