Many columns standing in lines
But below lies more pines
And yet I'll never see the sky
Alone here, who am I?
A smattering of darkness
Formed in a fold
When asked for my likeness
Something about you is told.
What am I? An inkblot
The world is in color
Yet I only see gold
I am a house like a sun
I carry the world when I run
Through storms and through hail
Through lightning but not pale
Pale snow
My only purpose is my cargo
Many people must go where I go
Me and my weight of several tons
What am I? A bus
Something is shining too bright
So I see all black
From my prison I can look out
And through many glass walls
I can see the light
But I can't turn my back
And only when you clean me
Can you see the memories that I recall
I'm always something large
But yet also so small
What am I? Film
YOU ARE READING
In the Garden Primeval, where I'll pray for you.
PoetryI have a plan for you You'll deal with it all And with the weight of the world on your shoulders you'll face a fall People won't catch you Many times But I'll pray for you They'll come in time
