Like a flame,
it burns.
That thing
you cannot explain.
Like a ball
it moves inside of you,
but you still can't give it a name.
That thing
urges to come out.
It makes you afraid
of what it may be
and what it will be.
So, you keep it inside
and you call inside
a better place.
-that thing
that feeling,
H I R A Y A.
YOU ARE READING
1:11
PoetryBetween sunsets and sunrises are a bunch of poems that may mean nothing or may mean everything. Between sunsets and sunrises I am not afraid of the dark, I am fond of it. Part II of The Zeros. Made it to the wattys shortlist!
