In a far off view of the horizon, where the sun decided to bathe itself in the ocean, he sat and clinched his six-year-old guitar under the euphoric pink-orange color of the sky.
He looked up and saw birds kissing in a single tree,
Loved the shore and the waves and its brusquerie,
Laid down and smiled and felt free,
Closed eyes and travelled at the perigee.
Oh how thoughts dribbled unto his brain,
Oh how he could write a lonesome song and sing,
Moments of joy and laughter in the rain,
Same place, same memories, and same name,
Will she ever come back to him again?
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
In a far off view of the horizon, where the sun decided to bathe itself in the ocean, he sat and clinched his six-year-old guitar under the euphoric pink-orange color of the sky.
He looked up and saw birds kissing in a single tree,
Loved the shore and the waves and its brusquerie,
Laid down and smiled and felt free,
Closed eyes and travelled at the perigee.
Oh how thoughts dribbled unto his brain,
Oh how he could write a lonesome song and sing,
Moments of joy and laughter in the rain,
Same place, same memories, and same name,
Will she ever come back to him again?
