It was rain splattering against the glass,
the night as the window’s canvas.
The words that beckoned
what another’s heart has forsaken,
to touch what is unwritten
even as the raindrops fell unbidden.
A dystopia of emotions
pulled by gravity,
clashing against limitations,
its doom on the flooded street.
Or until it crashes onto a pane,
lingering there until heaven’s end;
because the night is the window’s canvas,
and the surging darkness ever attempting to devour the glass.
YOU ARE READING
Sanctuary for the Wandering Words
PoetryA collection of some shorts and unearthed poetry. Stories that dream to be written, stories that dream to be read. For the words that lose their way within the infinite ocean of tales, this sanctuary is for you, this dreamscape I have buil...
