a journey (the wedding), ᴊᴏᴇ ʜɪꜱᴀɪꜱʜɪ, 00.00
isn't the sky just lovely?
she floats, never-changing.
when the wind rises with her, surely,
their dance rouses the leaves; they hang trembling.
dreams of flight vanish into her clouds,
she hides them in the blue, rather subtly.
they emerge with scars, but sometimes without,
for what is beauty without cruelty?
from the painter of the heavens, icarus fell,
she's written tragedy, she's written love stories.
the sky is a grace we know all too well,
she sets the stage for celestial masterpiece.
YOU ARE READING
[14] - monday's child.
Poesía𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴. original poetry i wrote at fourteen.