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NatSmithPoems
On the edge of my windowsill, I sit And count the little black and bustling heads Clustered down below. There is Life In the pinnacles of the trees I tower over. I feel It, breathing coolly down my neck. I am soon to be reborn, My countenance now aglow. This is my precipice. I will soar down from my mountaintop Bearing word of reclamation. I will sow my bones like seeds upon the wind.
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Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
Eve
On the edge of my windowsill, I sit And count the little black and bustling heads Clustered down below. There is Life In the pinnacles of the trees I tower over. I feel It, breathing coolly down my neck. I am soon to be reborn, My countenance now aglow. This is my precipice. I will soar down from my mountaintop Bearing word of reclamation. I will sow my bones like seeds upon the wind.
Written by
NatSmith
17/Non-binary
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
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