We loved
Like doves underneath
Mourning skies
Huddled as white
Turns brown
As if life itself
Was a lie
Buried in stories
Of what could
Have been.
We cried
Tears of heavy
Dark clouds
Grasping our hearts
In hope
Pieces don’t fall
Upon heated graves
As the end
Hurried and time
Took its course.
Yes. This is a long poem. But when you don’t limit your thoughts when writing, words seem to just flow like an endless river. And you find yourself being set free. I feel….
Liberated.
Seeds Before Water 