He's the kind of man you meet once in your life.
Tall, towering over you,
his emerald eyes hypnotizing,
his wavy dark hair gently flowing in the wind.
You can sense him
before he even enters the room.
He has the presence of a thunderstorm,
a dark cloud on a sunny day.
His voice is deep, raspy,
yet still music to the ear.
He doesn't talk loudly,
yet you can hear him no matter how far you are.
You will see him,
but he won't meet your gaze.
You can call him,
but he won't answer.
His soul is as dark as his leather jacket,
his mind as mysterious as the universe itself.
He doesn't talk much,
not if unnecessary.
He's always by himself,
but he's not bothered by it.
He reads books with no cover,
drinks whiskey with no name.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts turned Words
PoetrySome late night thoughts, memories and feelings. Most of these are written from my personal, very tragic life, however there are some inspired by friends, books and movies. Maybe You can relate to something as well? Honestly at this point it's more...
