Old travels through worlds left behind
resurface as pale memories...
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.