Missing the childhood
To miss a mere land,
Where the childhood memories
buried along within.
To miss the time
When everything was fine,
No droplets of the broken,
no scarlet of the rage,
no frowning of the worries,
and no words from the liar.
Will those moments ever return
to us,
or will they became
just another memories?
YOU ARE READING
Wildflowers
PoesíaWildflowers; wild, yet still held the preciousness ___ To read is to aspire. To write is to inspire. So-called self-claimed poetry. Little confessions in understanding the world.
