Chronologically clothes taken. Your beautiful baby, our celebration. These were the finals of a star being born. Born from the ashes, risen from the passing streams. Crickets. Algae. Sun. The beauty has taken Centre stage, cutting to the chase, a star is burned. A star is brown. Free to be, free to be. The breaking point had not been determined, even the morning ceased early. fourteen years to the day, only then can the hein be acknowledged. It is over now, and only now.
Calling it quits, last power through he said with tears in his eyes. Wishful thinking.
- thanks for reading my poem today! I hope you enjoyed it!
