I'll grasp the smoke
and succumb
to the shadows,
for I know
you will be there
holding a lamp.
whispers of triumphs
will echo in every space
as we keep
drying the ocean.
one day, their castles
would collapse
and those who once
reigned
will give obeisance to us.
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.
