Smallest piece of paper in my hand,
Huge rock beneath my head.
Hence I beathe
I travel,
I bet on the virtual stance of meadows.
Snow strangled around my toes,
Bit of dessert underneath
Last flower of valley bloomed inside a bowl full of realms.
All these crystals I have gathered,
Pockets are full,
Puzzles are solved.
With withered thoughts on the surface,
I pray for dusty roads,
Misty clouds,
I pray for another tinge of sand for my time glass.
However, everything is real (or not) when I look at her from a distance,
Everything that is and will be.
She is a shapeless mountain,
She is a valley full of invisible fountains,
She is a book, she possess melody.
Maybe she is just a word,
And I still wonder,
How did I come up with these lines?
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.
