There's always a peck of us in everything we do.
We always leave parts of us;
Traces, a signature.
A small mess,
Like a peck of your natural dust.
A part of me lives and breaths in everything I've done, and about to.
My tiny little minions;
If we've ever met, i probably left one with you.
A parting gift to always remember me by.
YOU ARE READING
The Soul Ink
PoetryMy Soul travels at the speed of a thousand knots Oh And yet the marvel at a single thought So many moments i can't afford a single blink I must keep a journal written in my Soul's ink
