Once, on a journey that is yet to be known,
I crossed the paths made for grey and stone.
The winds warp with every step,
The light of the moon and stars befall upon me,
Like silk trapped within a web.
Not twice do eyes here close for the night,
As they keep watch for clusters
Of imagination, or light.
The dreams here seem to drip
With liquid mercury and gold,
The shadows dance in the absence
Of bedtime stories told.
They say one shall not pass upon this city
Without the chance to grieve,
Yet, the shallow feelings devoid of warmth
And sleep have many more places to be.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 1:06 PM UTC
Once, on a journey that is yet to be known,
I crossed the paths made for grey and stone.
The winds warp with every step,
The light of the moon and stars befall upon me,
Like silk trapped within a web.
Not twice do eyes here close for the night,
As they keep watch for clusters
Of imagination, or light.
The dreams here seem to drip
With liquid mercury and gold,
The shadows dance in the absence
Of bedtime stories told.
They say one shall not pass upon this city
Without the chance to grieve,
Yet, the shallow feelings devoid of warmth
And sleep have many more places to be.
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