Hitting from the
arch of eyebrows,
my pain were you.
One brief death
in illusion, settles on
all the descents.
Not taking any
road to reach the moon
on hill, when you were gone.
For all the half-
spoken words, this was
the moment of liberation.
Solemn signs without a
phrase don't turn the
key and door remains shut.
Between coming and
going, time remains still
like a frozen lake.
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
Hitting from the
arch of eyebrows,
my pain were you.
One brief death
in illusion, settles on
all the descents.
Not taking any
road to reach the moon
on hill, when you were gone.
For all the half-
spoken words, this was
the moment of liberation.
Solemn signs without a
phrase don't turn the
key and door remains shut.
Between coming and
going, time remains still
like a frozen lake.