i leave this city
knowing that i'm leaving something behind
a rock, a totem, a token
breathing in the salt air fixed something that was broken
to remind them all
that i'm not quite done here
something calls me from those swaying trees
and that aching summer breeze
so i write the notes
in the margin of a shredded paper napkin
addresses, escape routes, should i ever feel the need to run
and the distant certainty that the journey's only just begun
YOU ARE READING
Serenity - A Journal Of Some Sort
RandomThey tell me that what I create is chaos. But what I create is the only thing that brings me serenity. ~ warning: this book abruptly switches from deep personal narratives to really random stuff so hop on and enjoy the ride
