Perched on the edge of a shelf
Blackness engulfs me
Nothing but the winds whispers
and snippits of illusions
pass me by
Alone
the voices of the past
whipping by me to faint nothing
visions
fleeting to illusions
dance beyond my reach
I grasp
but they fade away
Alone
I hear the visions anew
tangible and palatable
approaching
different but reassuring
I wait, a moment
visions fade to illusions
and like dust
the wind whipping by
takes them away
Alone
I go whipping by you
the wind carries me like dust
all you see is an illusion
I whispers words, but I am gone
you reach, then forget
Alone
posted by F.G. Shaw @ 2:55 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home