With the birds, I'll glide; through the breeze in the highest skies and past the beauty of the land. With the birds, I'll sing; in tune with myself. With the birds, whose whispers haunt me like the darkest clouds on the brightest day; and eventually to the birds, I'll return.
(d.r.)
YOU ARE READING
Black & Poisonous
Poetry"She had 50 days left to live. She had 5000 words left to say." A compilation of 50-word poems by a child who longed to see a better future than the one they've set for themselves. Each piece takes 12 seconds to read. #833 - 27/05/17 #687 - 28/05...
