with a certain graveness
he turned his lean, cadaverous face
away from the quiet garden lake
it reflected the light of the bright moon
and the lost ambitions of a child he once knew
an astronaut, to fly into space
to set foot in a different place
to be far away from the Earth's endearing yet deadly maze
sometimes youth is not forever
and sempiternal doesn't exist
in the two years that passed
it seemed like hundreds had
you could see it in his face
and the way he slowly turned away with grace
that could only have piled up
through countless years of sorrowful and distraught days
YOU ARE READING
Feeling Indigo, how about you?
PoetryJust a thing for random stuff that sometimes go through my head. I think most of these are my failure attempts at a poem but I can't really write anyway.
