(n.) that which has been washed away.
﹊
Call us weak,
Call us barren,
Call us a freak,
But don't call us children.
With lingering eyes on the clock ticking noon,
An innocent peak and a simple glazed smile,
Sweet sound lullabies in just the right tune,
Something that I've never had in quite a while.
Remember those moments?
When we thought time was unlimited,
But they were all just borrowed rents,
Since time will always be miscalculated.
YOU ARE READING
sonder
Poetry(poetry) / (n.) the realization that each random passerby is living a life a vivid and complex as your own. all i can say is, the world has a mind of its own, and this poetry book is a whole multitude away.
