Ashes carried by winds choke me.
Hear the cries as flames rise.
A red sun burns above me.
I can't see the end yet.
The sky is far too hazy.
Behind the walls,
behind the fences.
Behind the perfect,
the imperfections.
Swallow my pride,
I am not
Now is a tree,
a place that is made of history.
Feel with your fingers
for lines etched in the bark,
the future is there
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.