Volume low,
All the way to zero.
Whiplash of emotions,
Stuck and non-stop.
Gazing and capturing,
The time travel;
Moving forward,
Each passing moment.
Train of thoughts,
Loud as a siren.
Yet a statue
Is the mask.
The volume doesn't matters,
Nor do the swings,
Don't bother;
It's just a statue anyways.
~☆~✧~✧~☆~
Inside and out.
Anna
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Inks of Heart
PoetryJust some words woven into lines making the fabric of a poem; sometimes prose. #1 poetry #1 book of poems #1 poembook #2 prose #4 motivation #7 poem { Copyright © 2021, Anna Woods}
