Poem Hunter
ST ( / Los Angeles)


She was swirling, drowning,
Lost in the light,
She was flying, soaring,
Sinking in the wind

Trapped in the whilpool of colours,
She sees only black light,
Surrounded by that mass of humanity,
She hears only her own voice

Was that all she was?
Was that what she wanted to become?

To be alive is to be dead,
To be dead is to be alive,
She wanted to be alive.

And as the North Wind caressed her cheek,

She was Gone

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Comments (1)

I am really begining to like your writes, you do justise unto every piece........