When we are born we cry to the heavens that we are alive. And when we die, the silence echoes through the halls of the soul; wondering, lost.
Since Chaos's infancy everything just is. Just for someone to come out of its depths to tell us otherwise. Then, what is real and what is not? For I have seen Death's face and he was beautiful.
Far from life itself as it didn't dwell on my heart anymore. It settled on the pit of my stomach, to never leave. To remind me of what I once was. A hole that will never be filled to the brim. Nor with love nor hatred.
A dying constellation with infinite possibilities of what I could had; to never be or to simply exist in an endless void were no one knows my name and were no one knows that I was born and bound to greatness.
So as atoms fly through the infinite space between our bodies, our hands, yours, I would love to weave myself in you, to stay impossibly close to you so that nobody, not even Chaos itself, could ever separate me from the whole galaxies and billions of stars that you are.
April 24, 2017.
YOU ARE READING
Three souls of mine
PoetrySo I'm basically writing this sort of poems based on my emotions and daily life. To help some of the readers understand what they are feeling. If any of you need advices or anything don't mind to ask.
