We are all mirrors
Previously broken
In the firmament under which
We fall asleep.
We’re the tired reason
Of the thoughts
Distressing us,
Or the helpless panic
Of a worthless second…
We are empty cups
Nurturing our longing
In hopeless, delirious
Wait.
We are all violin strings
Breaking in unwritten music,
Or deserts embellished
By their own delusive dream.
And yet we are not aware of
The freedom
That imprisons us like
A layer of skin
With no sense of touch…
We are all broken mirrors
And we hide from our own selves
Without even knowing it…
vezi mai multe poezii de: alina.dragan
Pentru a scrie un comentariu trebuie să fii autentificat. Click aici pentru a te autentifica.