I learned that I have your eyes
but all I can think about
is how one day they will be inky
like yours aged to be.
Even the sky changes
from blue, to gray, to black,
In the end of night
what lives up there?
Will it be all of the demons
we've succumbed to
scrounging around
for that last blink of sun?
Looking to the final sky
light ebbing in
but none returning out;
Was my reflection there?
When eyelids close
it doesn't matter the shade of anything
the memories will replay, burned,
until all is black and white.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2020-2022)
PoesíaPoetry of varying subjects and construction, the second of three. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. Accolades: #1 Thought Provoking 2/26/2020 #1 Self-Reflection 3/22/2020 #1 Creative Writing 7/24/2020 #3...
