Oct 20
She roamed the waves of lands gone,
Up roaring dunes of golden sands,
Down crumbling soil,
Across into foreign lands.
She didn't hold the history close,
Nor did she shy away.
But she observed the ghosts,
And stories without a hateful say.
The icy glass split her hair to ribbons,
Tearing away the auburn threads.
As she gazed out on city scapes,
Her soul frozen over at the ends.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Found
PoetryThis is the 2nd part of my 365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions ab...
