[A/N: In our English class yesterday, we were told to sit outside in the football field (pic in the media), watch the sky for a bit, and then either write a poem, create a short story or describe what we see based on what we feel and see. This is what I wrote]
"You coming?"
"No, I think I'll stay here for a while."
My head comes to rest on the patch of grass under me. I look up, momentarily blinded in one eye from the sun, feeling the soft breeze and my swaying hair tips tickle my hair.
The sky is a light blue, dots of white clouds spread across, like somebody had gone over them with a paintbrush, or maybe it's an angel's wing, spread across to protect us. The people. The earth.
It's lazy hues that are spread out so carelessly, yet so perfectly, make me feel tranquil. Sleepy, yet wide awake; aware of the here and now.
A small smile adorns my face.
I feel so small, so tiny, looking at the vast expanse of the sky, yet so here. Standing on the earth. Looking up at the sky. So important. Size doesn't matter after all.
Rolling over, I pick up my notebook and begin to write.
YOU ARE READING
Words of Ink
PoesíaOne word. I fell in your trance, sucked into your inky depth. Two words. You drew me in, my attention rapt. Three words. I laughed, I cried, I knew Four words. that you were just a word of ink. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~...
