Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2021
A zillion random words
arranging and rearranging themselves,
acommodating, falling in place,
building sentences, lines and lessons.
It's crazy how they've become my shelter,
where I belong, they're my pleasure, or pain,
they're the roof keeping me from the heavy rain
that floods the world I used to call my home.
Ꭷ Ꮇ Ꮛ Ꮐ Ꭺ
Written by
Ꭷ Ꮇ Ꮛ Ꮐ Ꭺ  23/M/NotFoundYet
(23/M/NotFoundYet)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems