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All light and grace,
Always silent, always seraphic
Constellation drifts
was the epitome of all these.
I was merely trying to keep afloat
Little by little I succeeded of sort
Even with the constant front
Of my own private thoughts.
Fearful, something might come --- unaware
Constantly I murmured prayer
To the pale moonlight --- He may hear
To take me whole after I left my souvenir.
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YOU ARE READING
Altum Uchū: Beauty of Pains
PoetryA space meant for poems. The sufferings and pain of yesterday. And the pain of the what ifs and why nots. A mind works differently alone
