deepundergroundpoetry.com

Running on the spot

to hear the soughs of distant wind
to touch the constellation of stars
to feel the caresses of passing breeze
sending thoughts through the moving air

no one knows how the story ends
or if there is even a story to tell
life here when its over and done
life there is just a distant scent

sleeping souls waiting to be born
hands closed in fists ready to open
dreams of life of then to now
will they be born tonight

these thoughts haunt me
is there an after, a before
or are we just rats on a threadmill
running the race going nowhere.
Written by Grace (IDryad)
Published
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