here i walk, under a tunnel of trees.
i'm showered with leaves of all the most pretty colors, especially orange, and i look up from worn shoes to see the endless road ahead.
it's so very q u i e t.
no cars, no people, no one to interrupt a beautiful silence.
it's not too bright outside, it's the afternoon, after all. the trees look the best in this light.
i open the door and smell home, my mom is cooking dinner i suppose. it's warm here.
now my coat lays, slouched on the back of a chair.
this feeling of calm, i live for.
-a
YOU ARE READING
poetic rants.
شِعرlowercase intended. slow updates, sorry. also is this even poetry? probably not, but is anything really as it seems?
