i walked past people,
each lost in a world running
differently inside their mind.
and i heard people talk.
about newspapers,
about morning coffees,
about jobs and books,
about life bustling about and in.
— i heard them talk about colours i never saw.
YOU ARE READING
brown eyes yet grey skies
Poetrywhere the eyes stay awake, yet colour in them is asleep. · part one of woven shreds.
