Walking on golden nights, extended shadows willowed meadows, hallowed be the touch, hollow be the composition, assimilating a position the proposition was clear, we don't live to die but we already dead waiting to live, the rebirth, reverbs throughout the universe, echoes through light that spawns a star, here we live forever, together we gather into a single being, not of physical substance, not a subject and not objectively a heaven above, paradise on a cloud or nirvana beyond.
-Black Note.
YOU ARE READING
Three Poems plus a bonus.
PoetryA life weighed by tragedy is like a tattered book on a dusty shelf. Its pages, worn thin from countless readings, tell stories smudged by hands that clung too long, hearts too eager or too burdened to let go. Though cracked and frayed, the words end...
