amidst the riders of dark stealing our feelings as they pass by,
i question all the seasons that have ever brushed their faces.
their hands have wrinkled labouring to keep foreheads dry,
yet somehow, the storms always seep out at the wrong places.
i want to speak and know if calm is what really stills their seas,
but masks are mesmerizing so everything is only white or black.
if eyes were nightlights, they'd shine with all the hushed pleas,
and then we would see in them bleeding feet on uneven tracks.
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: ̗̀➛ Poetry: A Journey
Poetry↳ ❝ And I realise that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it's all in my mind ¡! ❞ ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Poetry is an art that can touch the soul the same as music or even a...
