On the grounds of enormity,
smelling of roses;
stands a tall tower. Very lean.
Tattered paint, but it's shiny.
Sculptures looked at it, and their eyes reflected art;
a traveller called it stupidity.
And I handed out keys;
yet never used the one belonging to me.
My loved ones open up the gates; walk up it's stairway.
They tell me stories about the exquisite paintings on it's walls.
"Maybe it's the 8th wonder of the world afterall."
One day I finally walked in...
YOU ARE READING
Ethereal
PoesíaEthereal is a poetry book. It is a poet's benevolent prattle about growing up, attaining maturity, embracing delicacy, moving on and it's what you find when you finish walking on your path of self discovery...for now.
