I wonder where the people go
once they reach the sky?
Do they sit atop the clouds and
watch the ones underneath?
Do they roam around the celestial sky searching
for a new thrill, a new way to feel alive?
A little soul runs around
picking up dust from Mars while
an old soul lounges on the rings of Saturn.
Mystical beings of the universe write new chapters,
ones where souls are recreated into creatures
we could never imagine.
They are familiar in nature, almost sentient
yet too naive to know
how they got there and who they were
before birth.
They theorize a creator,
a one they'll never know.
A god they worship, a god they mourn.
YOU ARE READING
It's Raining Outside
Poetry[Completed] 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃. I don't know how else to say this, but... 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬; 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧�...
