She is a poem, in quest of her poet.
She sees the sunset,
the death of another day.
She watches the river,
lose her story
in the ripples of the vast ocean.
She rose above herself,
only to crumble back down.
She endured, the silent agony
of the things left unspoken.
She wonders, silently.
Will he be a happy poet?
An oxymoron, perhaps.
YOU ARE READING
Mirage.
PoetryDisclaimer : I do not own the pictures, used with my poems. They are the property of their creators.
