It was a green grass day in the hills and we lay in fields that thirsted for the sun...
It was out across the dead valley Engines grinding against the strain Blue smoke released to trace the movement of the air Leaving behind clues to its own existence
Speak to me in secret tongues, you wanderer of twilight worlds Stolen words you gave to me as treasure maps Drawn in disappearing ink beneath my skin... #poetry #writing #space
I’m supposed to write a poem about beginnings, and I can’t think of how to start it. Irony is not dead.