I've stepped into a black hole
But there are sounds
They crash and bang
I am blind
In the distance, there is a
Faint glow
I hurry towards it
There is music now
Beethoven, Haydn, Mendelssohn
Crescendo, the glow
Is people
And I recognise them all.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
