To fly up
Up above the stars, moon and sun.
Mind the wings
Tattered, half-dead
Coughing out life,
Imprisoned
In a cell of freedom.
Heights never matter
In the course of a flight.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
Apologies for an unintentional fraud, for I am not a competent painter. After racking my brain for a good three hours, trying to find ... -
Oh, how far we've come searching for faith in a world on fire. Faith in our notions of our nations propaganda since the age of maps— div...
-
Rewatching— Moving pictures of the ‘best’ of times Backlit by the fire we lit, Enormous and detailed Shadow-dancing on street walls And wh...
No comments:
Post a Comment