A sprinkle of stars,
A still city,
A throbbing heart.
A whistle of breeze,
A sea of emotions,
A wandering life.
A thin thread.
Of sanity.
Of promises.
Fiercely strong,
Dreamily high,
Hopelessly in time.
And music.
Of celestial lullabies,
Or eerie whistles,
Of broken strings,
Of camera flashes,
And of the waves of time.
Just plain, energetic music.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
