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Here We Are, But We're Still Lost
I have spilled my heart on this journal and now I am making it public. I doubt what you will find will interest you much. It's only my battered soul. Lol, sorry, that was really angst, wasn't it?
Past the Grave

Black birds
follow me
into my grave.

They wait above,
listening to the
rattling of my bones.

Those that love
the memory of me
cry into the earth.

My life is pressed
into the sky, trying to
find soul and freedom.

I contain dust,
fragments of dreams
wasted and decayed in time.

There is light in
the dark horizon.
One day, I'll live again.






 
 
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