He gapped up at the moon.
It hung like a memory, shining bright and truthful.
The forest was cast in a silver glow, and the frost glowed like jemstones.
It was his first time outside.
He was the last thing I saw, before I became the one locked inside the tower.
What I had taken for granted, was stolen, and what he never had, was given to him.
He lived, because I died.
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PoetryA collection of poems, and random thoughts of mine. Won't be updated regularly, will contain mature subject matter. Give it a look if you like. ☆☆☆☆☆☆ I see you there, Smiling, Weaving beautiful tapestries with your words. They hang on to every word...
