He ran:
With the storm, against the storm, from the storm.
"Why!?" He cried.
The hard and fast winds cared to not care.
Piece by piece,
The gales tore him apart;
His spirit clinging by naught but a thread.
His body already ascending.
He saw a poisonous visage,
Unclearly, clearly trying to decieve him.
"I'm not going to be swayed by your lies." He scoffed.
And the entity shredded to pieces.
He had transcended,
the decayed him swimming in the breeze;
till he became one with the storm about.
till he became the chaos about.
Will he ever come back?
The world will still be the world.
YOU ARE READING
Rhythms From a Quarter Life
PoetryI will die the very moment this poetry collection is complete, not a moment more, not a moment less. Yet, what worries me is not death but never being able to complete this poetry collection. These are the rhythms resonating from a quarter-life.
