the canvas of mine
hangs lonely on the wall
swaying slightly
as the breeze blows upon it
and inhaling sharply
to every bullet it absorbs.
with each oblivious moment
a scar is created
to be felt and held onto
when darkness is entombed
by the tear-stricken fireworks.
i lie upon my deathbed
staring up at the stars
crossed so constellations
cannot be formed
but drawn in a language
seducing only those
purest of all.
~ journey
YOU ARE READING
acheful
Poetry❝ the town was paper but the memories were not. ❞ an anthology of poems written during an inexplicable journey of friendship, hope and forgiveness called life.
