Passing Through
I live in a town where I've never
seen the sun.
the clouds are thick,
grey and stagnant
as they hang over our
heads.
Air that is as frigid as it is crisp,
burning our lungs
while we walk from place
to place.
We cower beneath the frozen and desolate
mountains we mine;
they are of soot and bone
supernaturally humming at us.
Faces are rare
around here, but
If you happen to see one,
look the other way.
YOU ARE READING
Verses
PoetryBook One: ~Romanticism~ An anthology of poems I worked on for a poetry class. They are reflective of how one feels when the heart and mind become entangled. Book Two: ~About~ Another collection of poetry that illuminates and explores the definitio...
