Gentle whispers make their way across...
Their delicate sorrows draw out tears...
Wells of love from the caverns of a body...
A body in which was believed to be dry.
The simple thought of a future
Brought up memories of the past
What was the past anyways?
It wasn't dark
And it wasn't quite colorful either...
It just seemed to be an amalgamation of
Something new, yet somehow familiar
Like seeing a painting for the first time
But something taps at your shoulder to tell you that you'd seen that exact selection of colors before.
In that exact pattern.
A feeling like deja vu, except you know why you're feeling it again
That's the past.
Reliving a memory as if it was now.
In dark rooms like these, you don't see color.
You simply process the amount of light being let in..
And listen for the hum of something new
Or a memory...
When it's heard....
A dull mind flows full with emotion
Anticipation for the next note
The next whisper to remind you of your past
Deja vu.
YOU ARE READING
No More Seasons
PoetryThese are just little poems that I've written! :) Each one is different, some are more professional while other are just accumulations of my thoughts..
