Maybe there was
Another reality,
Where scars were but,
Phantom sensations.
Where the stars could be seen
Through city lights,
Trust wasn't built on
Shaky foundations,
And the prism of envy
Didn't obscure sight.
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral Ink
PoetryPoetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. - Thomas Gray. A collection of all the poems that I've written.
