A whisper
of nostalgia
and soon
I am a ghost
walking
in my memory.
With chapped lips
and winter skin,
I am able to live again.
Time trickling
like water drops
under a faucet,
open my eyes
and wake up
from this memory
to face
the darkness
that
unwinds
my
thoughts.
YOU ARE READING
The Ebb & Flow of Virtue
Poetry~ There is good and bad constantly warring with each other inside you, a small voice resounds in my conscience just as my vision dips underneath the salty water, it is similar to how the land fights with the sea, the sky with gravity, the light...
