Dreams are like the rolling wind,
Where ever you go is where they will end.
Then they rise again and again.
Dreams move by like the singing wind.
Feel the voice riddle your mind,
The chill of the cold that dances through time.
Fading now, no need to unwind.
Hear the voice let go of your mind.
This is where the echoing ends,
Past the edge and around the bends,
Until you come to a shadowed grave,
Where the whispers of men condemn and save.
Dreams are like the muted stone,
Where ever you go you remain alone.
Then you smile, a half hearted clone.
The dreams inside are made of stone.
Feel their strength, and then they're done.
Once the only hope, now a lonely run.
Reach that peek whatever my come.
Then it fades, your journey is done.
This is where the message was sent,
Past the edge and across the rend,
And there it stops to be made anew,
By the whispers of men, both brave and true.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetryMy poetry... It is usually dark, morbid, sad... but there are times when it can light up your life.
