I'm alone in Grey. Alone in Yellow, sun rays beam on wood. I sit, the symphony of the mad demanding to be struck.
The looming, blooming, welting, melting chords they so yearn to play. I yearn for gold, yet my fingers strike on tears.
Though dost not the flower bloom best with the rain?
A desire, an instinct never to erase, never to look back, only forge forward.
Why must I be content to make do with what I have broken? unless I am to fix it, unless it never was broken.
Why does my soul soar with the sound of my weeping melody? unless I am to make it cheerful, unless it never was truly sad, for nothing so beautiful could ever be sad.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry, an attempt at expansion.
PoetryI'm not expecting much from these scribbles, mostly just a place in which to put them. x) If you enjoy them, then fantastic!! :) Anyway, I've been wanting to write fanfiction and/or some original stories, but I'm not quite sure how everything works...
