The innocent music of a child's toy is held in the hands of death.
This band of one is calling.
For how long you do not know.
To ever hear it again would be too soon.
But still you mourned its end.
YOU ARE READING
Simply Complex
PoetryLines, poetry and short stories. Sometimes stories write themselves. Generated by a single emotion, thought or song. Perhaps we can all relate to the clarity found in words. You can define that which is written down.
