Hands holding in imperfect harmony
Flickering candles with the scent of serendipity
Captivating glances in moments that breathe themselves.
Here time has it's own abstract agenda
An agenda set to structure scrutiny in which I am the one being tortured.
To touch is what we all desire,
though touching with thoughts is what imprisons us in imaginary cages.
Gates with guards that hold our dearest dreams.
Dreams to be defined without borders.
No more barricades that blockade us.
Not from breaching upon what we most crave to consume.
YOU ARE READING
Begging In The Abyss
PoesiaIf you would enjoy reading about the abyss of life, love, hope and all else in the form of poetry, well then I think you've found the right place.
