I thought of clouds with their misshapen forms
tiny puffs of breath that leave your lips in the winter
the desire came to mind that maybe we could run across the flowers of May
and run into the snow of December
yet the house that we knew and loved
that which we cherished like the childhood memories of long ago
no longer exists in this world made of grey and black
YOU ARE READING
Crossing the dark moon
PoetryIt is up to every man to choose what path they follow. Whether it be in fairness or out of spite, the choice is up to the individual at the end of the road
