The longing cry
for utter silence
Cursed words, that taint
the lips of a saint
Hitting the bones
That rattle the foundation of existence
the juggling jester
In the court of fools
of a king of ruins
He paves the paths to unsafe doors
with never-ending halls
and riddled arcs
that lead to infinite roads
a path to evergreen answers
.
.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio
YOU ARE READING
Breath
PoetrySimple thoughts put in not soo simple words. It's a never-ending cycle till the brain decides not to think anymore.
