A pretty soul,
fragment of what was already left.
She died. He died. They died.
Nothing is left for the time to come.
Some will sorrow, but nobody will, and time won't pass in body, in soil, in dust, in nothing.
That is what she was. He wasn't. They could be.
YOU ARE READING
To every star in the sky
PoetryThis will be a place for me to let everything out. It's not real poetry. It's my feelings. Feel free to indulge. I don't know when I'll be updating because I write whenever it flows. ☁
