Hope is a bird that can fly.
With wings of feather and snow and gold.
Clip its wings,
And it will fall.
Leaving behind the trail of a blackhole.
Remains only a creature,
All Black and bold and void.
It sucks out your life,
And with you soul ?
- It toys.
It leaves you empty and broken.
Only skin and flesh and bones.
Your blood feels like fire,
And you're so tired and lost,
You can't even go back home.
It's too loud !
Get it all out !
Your head is bursting with pain.
Why won't the voices stop !
Let your fire out little bird.
You cannot fly anymore.
Oh ! What you would do to fly once again !
But,
You can't fly anymore.
.
.
.
You can only fall.
YOU ARE READING
Way Ward
PoetryLife is a jumbled mess. And from within this mess, I'm gifting you "your" stories, along with the stories of some other lost souls. Way Ward - A way to find your lost self.
