It has been quite some time,
since I've thought this way.
A way that romanticizes,
a way that stops and stares–
staring off into my mind.
A little lost, spinning around the rows of sunflowers.
The yellow and black blurring together.
A storm begins to surface in the East overhead,
and then everything is shadowed a dark purple.
This purple is dark but does not consume.
Rather, it flows into an altruistic stream–
Cold, wet, deep, but not malevolent.
Sometimes it's like that,
the truth.
YOU ARE READING
Silverfish
PoetryA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
