Where am I?
Still around that silent mountain?
Or right here, rotting in the womb of time.
Why is that I still wake up in the realm of children?
Feet are still frozen and snow has barely melted inside,
Valley still speaks to me, of mute rainfall and of vicious song of mine
I don't deny my crimes, worst of all, treason in my galactic eyes,
I turned my back towards my own, in the name of rituals and rights.
I remember my last glance when i looked back just to swallow it all
Everything mourned for their brother,
It rained over mountains, snow was in hiding for days
Valley lost all green, and birds were all pale,
news came that fever took him at night.
YOU ARE READING
Spontaneous Overflow
Poetrychildish attempt to gather random analogies to form nothing. just like life, It will not mean but just be. It is vague but it isn't hard. It is simple, It is poetry.
