Page 48 - ALMOST FINAL WRITINGS ON THE WALL (e-book)
P. 48
33. Phoenix
They told her self-love began in the heart
But with the way her heart was racing
She couldn‟t fathom loving the self she had created
That is if she existed.
How does she draw back to the realities of life?
When all she could do was sleep the rivers away
While the soil of her mother‟s land absorbs the salt upon her
eyes.
Dirty
A child of this land become foreign to love since
They only send hearts and cares upon the destitute
She was them in some way.
Clicking at the stars and sabotaging her being
Idolized yet trapped
Could it be, she was among the chosen?
A specie that finds solitude blissful
Yet tormenting when the ashes turn to dust.
Dirty soil
The ambers in her naps could set Amazon ablaze.
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