It seems to go above all else.
It has risen, beyond.
Everything below has...
Gone.
He is alone.
A single key,
The black of a piano
Lonesomely playing,
The only note it knows.
But it has risen.
Nothing exists,
But the falling feather,
Plucked from him.
Just one,
Because he is alone.
He plays but a note,
Forgotten in every composition
For it is not enough.
But it is above now,
Waltzing in the sky.
Nothing below,
Nothing beside him,
He plays the role he has,
When that is all he has.
For he is alone.
He is above,
And everything has faded.
YOU ARE READING
"She"
Поэзия"Some days we're dead. Others we're alive. In all of them we exist." Poetry Collection, accumulation of most of my work. Femminine feelings that can only be felt by some. Inner thoughts, whims and feelings are written here. If I can impact you a...
