Feb 2014

A few hours have forgotten the sky
as they tremble in their sleep.
Truly they are delicate,
you can hear them softly weep.

Water becomes unwanted
as it's blown across and battered.
Yet, the water keeps on  praying,
as if it really matters.

We drown in the reality
that every day brings us in the night.  
Still,
regret sees you and I,  
and our skin forgets to fight.

Now, fire drips from all we hear
and the wind begins to howl.
We ask if this is heaven or hell,
and to the music
we all bow.

Copyright @2014 - Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
Neva Flores Varga
Written by
Neva Flores Varga  Athens, Georgia USA
(Athens, Georgia USA)   
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