A window before a mirror,
A ghost off shiny glass
A mystery, that's what she is to me
The desolate space, that completes a figure
The tangible blank, sheet of wonder
Water's untamed fire makes no movement
Against the surface
She places her palm onto the cold silver
Tilting her head in confusion and doubt
Who is she? What is she to me
How long will I search
For my soul.
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I'm so sorry this is so depressing! XD ><
YOU ARE READING
The Journey
PoetryHey guys, I've decided to publish an anthology, not necessarily based on my own experience, but my collected thoughts and ideas. I'm putting out a poem a day. I hope you enjoy it..
