Sometimes I wonder if I'm pale or ghost of the night
sitting down here in the cold street of ebutta-meta
unnoticed by the lovers
allow me to pass under the bridge of time
this is my pastors garden, I am the vibrant, my pen is the living canvas painting with long-lost memories
my soul whispers lullabies that made my mind to fall asleep
the far away echoes of a timeless universe
every time I put my thought down on a white paper, this is me closing in my fading shadow
allow me to figure out my hazy figure, that will help me absorb my ethereal essence
the only thing that is certain in this life is, I am
thank you
love
Comments
Post a Comment