Traipsing softly through the dust
To the place where I meet with glass roses in misted frost
Quivering in rings to cloudy songs
I pass through the field on my own.
Wooden spires towering into the ground
Holding in solitude without their calling
Petrichor in perpetuity
Stone giants not seeming daunted by the dusk
Supine, inclined towards the sky
Not crumbling as though lime rock.
There lies, adjacent
Inhumanity in its only true vessel
Whether that be of beast
Or those humans that seem not to be
Daring to reverse its trespass onto its own soil.
As imperfection I encompass all of these
The beauty of it all seeping into my spiritual being.
YOU ARE READING
100 Peices of Me
PoesíaThis is a collection of poems that I've been writing since I was ten years old. They encompass many things that I go through in life, and many of my thoughts. I hope you enjoy it. Edit: It gets better as it goes, the first section of the book is fro...
