Looking, smiling
How lucky are we
Outlined in silver,
There goes a year.
Slipping like water-
Sweet ideas saturate
Our empty minds but full
Bodies- look after yourself.
I will forever listen
And tell people things
They need to hear-
Don't leave people alone.
What we have is
Such a waste, wasted
On ourselves and
We won't know until we're gone.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
