Wren
HIS MOTHER //had always// told him// to love the nature//. To worpship //the sun. //To listen// to the words// and whispers of the earth// as he inhaled// and exhaled// as his lungs filled// themselves with earth //and the smell of blooming flowers //till they// threatened to burst.// He tilted his head //towards the sun // it smiled// and gold poured out of its mouth// covering everything// in a golden glow// and sticking// to almost everything //like honey. He tried to// catch the hot rays //in his hands// but they just slipped between // like water between clouds// scorching and burning //his fingers //till the skin peeled off.
Every morning //he would sit //in the garden// surrounded by trees// small flowers // grass and bugs. //He would// put his hands to the ground // digging his fingers in // until his hands bled //and dirt and blood //collected itself// under his nails. //The boys neck //would be //craned upwards// and his eyes closed//. Chapped lips// part in prayers //while the blooming sun// burned his skin// till only ashes// were left.
YOU ARE READING
"DREAMING"
PoesíaOH HOW THEY GREEDILY DROWN IN THEIR DREAMS. (Ayyy it sucks real hard) [15.01.2017]
