We might not be perfect. But we are, the true definition of life. Walking barefoot from a beach to another beach. Touching the sea water. Creating memories with all the time that we have before we go home.
The sun is looking at us. The moon is waiting for us. Counting the stars again and again as we move forward from the past. Every time we miscount, it's weird that we'll start counting all over again.
Life is a vast shade of white. The future is full of light. But in between, we play with so many different colours. We lost people, and a small bird turned into an eagle. Our homes are stolen, our poems are burnt. We close our eyes, and we see our home.
YOU ARE READING
DEEPER BLACK ( POETRY / Random Thoughts )
Poetry#2901 Dedicated to everyone who lost themselves over something that worth nothing. [#1 Poem : 19 January 2019 -> 28 January 2019 ] [#1 Puisi : 31 January 2019 -> 3 February 2019 ]
