I seem to be holding on,
I seem to be not where I belong.
The stars have to burn and die,
the stars never learnt how to fly.
The cracks they follow me,
alined with a path of old leaves.
The cracks they crumble,
my heart can stumble
In the end you will just hear,
the sound of a bomb with no fear.
And then I'll just be a crack,
and a crumbled cheer.
YOU ARE READING
A shout of quite poems
PoetryExpressed feelings that I've put into some thing. All poems are my own.
