I sit there at the crimson sunset in the broken world, my end is nigh, and all I want to do is see up high.
The stable, the right, and the hopeful passed on, the ones left are pieces together. The broken, the wrong, and the desolate.
This sunset was painted by a broken hand that created this world and soon the paint spreads upon the sky making darkness once again.
There I lie under that sky.
(Luckily a short poem that I created a couple years ago.)
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Poetry/Music
PoesieThis is more of something to get my mind more in vocal, you can interpret the words however you wish, and I am thinking it will be updated maybe regularly. It's more of to get my views on somethings out there.
