as we grow older
the bonfire in our soul
simmers to a
smolder
summer no longer means
running through the forests
followed by pillow forts,
and laughter
now my days are spent in the past
wishing I smiled
a little bit longer
wishing I ran
a little bit farther
with my arms outstretched
not plagued
with these thoughts
of death.
YOU ARE READING
The Stardust in a Black Hole
PoetryA reflective tale of self-growth that connects the reader to a deeper sense of self.
