Serene

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Doves sing, the air drifts in a space to fill with contentment, sorrow, reminiscence.
I have forgotten what it means to feel what is real.
Bark scraping against palms, soil rough underfoot. Sunlight warm on my skin, whispering leaves and dappled shadows.
A song born from the earth voiced into serenity.
But my voice has choked.
In its place songs that ensnare my soul reel and wail my lament.
A silent scream void of depth and the nude grandeur of a moment here.
Let the Earth roll slowly by, the garden promise its solace.
I will stare with empty eyes at the sky and be.

Disillusioned: Poetry CollectionWaar verhalen tot leven komen. Ontdek het nu