i have seen
with my own eyes
not in a dream
the colour of an angel's wings.
the sun was behind a cloud
in exhaustion
just after it rained
towering,
growing,
swelling,
the sun bleached it white
so bright
my eyes couldn't seem to take it,
it bloomed,
terrible, terrifying,
power-
that had to be the colour
that had to be
some sort of blessing.
YOU ARE READING
the lowest heights
PoetryI thought to write this book as a little more abstract and informal because I needed something that's just a small escape from everyday life because, as all of you probably know, life is hard. I hope you enjoy these small poems and little rants. Tha...
