The ache makes you aware
Of everything alive.
The leaves that bloom
And the effort it takes.
The wings that soar
Every feather that feels the wind
The bone turning into ashes,
As the new seed cracks open,
Lying beneath the soil.
The sky turning red
Journey of the sun
Behind the branches,
The red lines, behind the buildings.
First small bird,
Against the black blue sky.
No comments:
Post a Comment