Withered and within
a dying breath
and yarns of endless ephemerae,
like thunder, like lightning,
igniting ages of delusion;
A fear.
Astral and adrift,
I bloom in adventures,
yet amble in ink of hundred hues,
like a bubble, like a feather,
lazing in prismatic pastels;
A vagabond.
Etched and enshrouded ,
a fiery trail of my footprints
I have yet to reach,
like a fantasy, like a nightmare,
calling, in dusk-soaked whispers;
A journey.
A life ahead.
Posting after a long time...
This one holds many of my thoughts,
lately they've been drifting a lot