Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2016
''go on '' I whisper,
as I open my hands towards unforgiving the sky,
you are free now.
a single **** gracefully leaves my hands,
soaring smoothly into the open air,
my last **** has gone.
I have none left to give.
Written by
the sentient being
287
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems