My feet yearn to walk
On broken leaves by your entrance
My skin yearn to feel
The twilight winds
The distant noises of the city
Nothing but a lost whisper
Behind those high grey walls
I wish I can go back
I wish I could frame this scene
But time moves relentlessly
Right before my eyes
Watching trees die
And promises fade
Witnessing headlights pass
Watching threads be broken and made
Yet I remain in the same spot
Playing it over and over again.
YOU ARE READING
Black isn't a Color ➵ poems
Poetry❝ Black isn't a Color, rather, the inability of light to reflect off. ❞ A collection of poems from the confused soul of an antisocial adolescent, who doesn't know where they belong, and where they don't.
