Spiralling upwards are towers of
ash.
Crashing below them are dreams of a man.
Crying and questioning why the world is so harsh,
"Why is so that I am where I
am?"
He was once pure but is now full of sin.
For all souls become corrupted in due time,
The world around them dark and so grim.
So no man could ever be just sinless and divine.
YOU ARE READING
Make Believe
Short StoryA collection of stories and sometimes poems that my mind produces.
