Overcasted
This is one of the times where
I succumb to being weak.
That I am only a fragment
Of what once had been whole.
That I am only a shadow
Of the blazing fire I once used to.
And that I am only a borrowed extension
Of what has been long dead.
I may be strong but, here's where
I rest the facade and admit being weak.
The moon is still there
even in a new moon.
I am still here even in this
overcasted glimmer.
It's still me, just tired.
🔥
HeraoftheUniverse
YOU ARE READING
When She Speaks
PoetryHer gift is being a reverberating stereo even when in silence. So much more When She Speaks. "I can only remember it when I have felt it. And only does it remain, if I have written it in the pages of my thinking. I mark my memories in pages of my po...
