When I look up to the morning i let out a desolate smile. The tears the sky shed drip down to the town below. They create a sea that everyone in the world can see. And the world lay covered, wrapped tightly in a blanket full of broken parts. These single pieces are handed to everyone near those sad tears. Memories occur while that affection resigns with that love and what little they called happiness. They pull a rope from their scalp, to set up that dangerous tightrope. But those who do not watch their speed cast the rope around their neck. Snap, like a broken branch in a broken everglade glossed over and kept still under the cold, glass-like lining of ice. In which no one and nothing can escape from.
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The Sky Cries
PoetryThe insight of the mind of those who look up to the sky in hope for change and frankly, hope.