Immersed in the poetry of a busy mind,
Words are forgotten but are not lost.
Tread them lightly,
Piece by piece.
Nothing begins, nothing ends.
These swarming thoughts are clouding.
The train has left,
Perhaps, you should too.
In her eyes,
from the throat which is dry,
a sad note of lullaby rest.
first poem. first and a small part of the whole.
by acknowledging the dark will you able to find light.
— The End —