Underground
Trees talk.
The moment is the moon.
The earth will roll and play.
Air trapped
All bodies are well.
The body is of the back air.
When sound becomes light
dissolves outside.
Those who pass me by
Just
Dead memories.
Those who come toward me
Just
Deaths of memory
After a long journey
In a cottage
I saw my life.
Life as an orphan
Used to live
When I want to live
Outside the house
The sound of the call
You go
Do not open the door.
button
Press, press, and disappear.
My conscience is...
We have no eyes.
as well as
It has no ears.
in every direction.
beggar
I am seeing.
Eat the colors with your eyes.
Drink in the sound.
Yasakam is not asked of anyone.
He is looking for a fellow beggar as a partner.
You are the mind.
Nano,
I mean, it's you.
About the Creator
Ahamed Thousif
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Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Awww, this was so lovely and wonderful!