Regression / Static / Frozen
There I stand alone with my feet
nailed to the ground. I see their shadows,
shorter and shorter without looking back.
I know.
I know the world was staying still.
It was me,
the one who regressed.
YOU ARE READING
Wild Flower / Shattered Blossom
PoetryTime will never meet an end when the domesticated does not wish to be a wild flower whose charm lies in its rough edges. A flower that remains alive even if stepped on.
