They are calling
Names that are
Lost in the
Heaves of storm
The swirling of
Anger makes
Fools of us all
So stare at the
Brink of eternity
Do not turn around
Or you will fall-
Backwards,
Forwards
It matters not at all
If the sky is at your feet
Or above your head.
To me, you are the
Sky.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Petrichor
PoesiaWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
