the sky was so clear today
no stars, just pure indigo paint
splashed across a white canvas
of paper and clay
the streets were devoid
of people wanted to avoid
amidst the buildings and structures
of bricks, wood and adventures
the sounds were so empty too
no voices, melody nor tunes to
mask the chaos brewing deep
within a body of unhinged sorrow
and anger, the fire that seep
into the hollows of a single heart
a drop landed on the palm of a hand
the sky was not crying
so was the streets, their surfaces blank
silence filled the hidden tension
hung around the atmosphere like
a curtain draped over a plank
something was forgotten
another drop, salty water starts to
pours from the depths of the soul
one by one they fall onto the palms
of the pale hands wishing to catch every
single droplet of water, moving shakily,
wishing to not make a mess of the clothes
worn on the bony limbs and brunette hair
tied behind the broad shoulders
......
"they won't stop falling...damn it,
now my shirt is drenched."
YOU ARE READING
/MEMORY/
Non-Fictionnever will I ever find a world that's better...oh wait, sarcasm is written in this letter. Written anywhere: in panic or anxiety, the reason's there.
