I run away,away into the distance, away into the mist,away into the woods,away into the mystic valley.
But alas,all I run away is to the attic above my house.
I run away in a chain of thoughts,
Will the world below forget me?
Will my family beneath ever remember me?
My mind wanders through strange questions,but the clock- hands seems determined in completing its unending journey.
Time passes but the call never comes,even the flicker of a faint hope in me gets daused off.
Seasons did change, hair did turn grey,
Clothes worn out,cobwebs did form up,
But the much awaited call never came.
And an ill-fated me did spend my whole life growing old in an old attic in the old house awaiting a call from my 'good' old family.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Smeared Canvas 🖤✌️ (COMPLETED)
PoesiaThings happen-to us and around us. Yet we all walk through each day faking ourselves. Pretending to be sane and hopeful for a future which is vague. We live in a world created by ourselves for we cannot thrive in the real one. Yet when nigh...
