Light creeps through the window on a Sunday evening
The bedroom has a soft glow, ethereal like a dream
A monsoon collects in the distance with dusty winds
Am I dreaming? Am I alive? Can I find the meaning?
But only the holy angels know what is left to redeem
YOU ARE READING
A Year of Poems
PoetryA collection of poetry from Alexander Bentley. One new poem written every day. Discover why nearly half a million people love his poems.
