My hand swayed in the cold stream. The river.
The waves gently hugged my skin,
But this water, was not good.
It flowed from hate, and from sin.
This water, was bad water.
It was the red water.
I sat on the grass, as I stared at the bad water. The grass was soft.
The grass was indeed special, as it was blue. Blue like the sky, and deep like ones eyes.
You could get lost in the grass quite easily. The grass was good.
The grass grew from roots of purity, and love. It tasted sweet, and was good to eat.
The grass satisfied us, but it was dry. Very dry. It left us without something we knew we needed.
As a thirst grew in my throat, I knew the red water, would always be there.
I drank greedily from the steam. The river. The water was good and cool.
Slowly, I walked from the water, quickly at first, than slower and slower.
I felt my knees collapsing, as I fell. Fell into the mountain.
The mountain of souls.
The mountain was built of the others who drank from the stream, who now turned to dirt.
As my arms crumbled to soil for the blue grass, and my eyes closed to darkness, I knew. I was now one of them.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Sorrows And Sunlight Tales
ПоэзияWhat's as black as night, yet shines brighter than the sun? Poetry. A collection of poetry gathered from sorrows, and extracted from tears. Polished with daylight, and mixed in with emotion. Original, never before seen poems, and short stories sure...
