My skin basked in gold light
that seeped in the clouds.
Memories that flashed
like movie scenes fade
in the rain that never falls.
I long, I yearn,
yet for what reason?
Clouds reigned in the skies.
Gold turned gray.
Piano melodies echo.
It is quiet. Comforting.
It terrifies me.
It sang me to a dreamless sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
