Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
How surreal it is,
lofted above the wrinkles in the landscape,
where clouds settle like a dropped cloth
on peaks and valleys,
to find distance.

Yet how surreal to be grounded!
To reach overhead and let morning dew
travel down your fingers,
to explore the splintered surface
of golden timber not yet weathered.
Written by
KB
129
   Bogdan Dragos
Please log in to view and add comments on poems