~•~
Our childhood catapulted
Like a cup of coffee spilling over a milky white silk
It's all over the place,
Scattering letters from unknown place,
Memories brought about but in traces,
Scarcely lightening the dark spaces
Amid the empty lines of the withered notebook,
That lays open upon the tattered desk.
It spills words-serving as a memoir
To lost days
Of when we care freely
Lost ourselves to the paracosms
That were knitted with shades astray.
~•~
YOU ARE READING
Serenade✔
Poetry"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. " ~Oscar Wilde __________________________________ ✔You stay under the carpet of my room, Dusting the corners of my soul✔ __________________________________...
