Through the mist,
And morning rain,
Through the dust,
And ruined daze,
A kiss from the sun,
A heavenly breeze,
A view from the skies,
So pure and deep.
The rustle of the leaves,
And the distant chirps,
The tale of the woods,
Hidden somewhere far,
Are we lost souls,
Wandering the earth,
Stuck in a body,
Hurting and breaking out.
We're hungry for joy,
Our passions unrecognised,
We're scared but we're brave,
Who are we,
If not dying frozen rays.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stained Heart [poetry]
PuisiNothing ever begins or ends poetically; it ends and we turn it to poetry.