Worlds have collapsed and walls are closing in. Idealism burns silver – past the farthest shore, down the deepest cliff. Here in this darkness-heaving ocean the sonnets are hushed. The earth is pounding, the waning moon fading
&& I’m a story written in words you don’t understand – drifting into feathery slumber; encircled by a darkened solitude and an inmost desire for the sun.
I’m brittle air; a puddle not a river. With violet eyes, green, blue, grey. Dejected. Empty. But sometimes I become a burning volcano, and I bleed butterfly colours. The songs are not dumb anymore and I am immune to poison. And with my Daedalus’ wings I rise from the ashes.
Tags: life stories, words
Very nice writing. I also like the design of your site. Simple, clean and easy to look at!