You held a gun to my head, and there I stood...
Helpless...
In tears...
Afraid...
Yet, I wanted nothing more at that moment...
I wanted it all to end...
I wanted you gone...
To believe my fear(s) were;
-False
-Entities
-Appearing
-Real...
.
.
.
But there was only way to find out...
YOU ARE READING
'Silent' Clouds.
Poetry¶Words have no meaning, unless you make them, turning them into a spontaneous overflow of rhythm¶ ¶A string of broken pieces interwoven into into poetry. Broken symphonies, turned into poetry¶
