The remains
Confront us.
Hangared too close
Words won't come;
The balsa body
Asks us to admit
We need gravity.
Above Grief's hold
When we laughed
At our morbid observations
We could only laugh
Laughter held us up.
Instrumentation
Pilots soullessly
Energized,
By our grace,
Wishes come true...
Not from tossing,
Launching away,
Silvery coinage
Of being alive.
See the stars?
Wishes come true...
not buried at the fairy ring --
Real wishes are sourced
Within our own being;
Soaring beyond thought.
Seeing through the void.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.06 seconds at 8:13am on Nov 13, 2024 via server WEBX1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
