this year, another,
time grows, yet she remains,
hopes for a harvest,
yet dead crops
in unmoved soil.
the wind carries,
and unwillfully
takes her along.
this year,
intended as the great,
somehow feels like
a bird who's lost melody.
fearfully, blindly,
walks into those doors,
not wanting to go beyond,
yet still wants to leave
those timeless tears.
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 12:41 PM UTC
this year, another,
time grows, yet she remains,
hopes for a harvest,
yet dead crops
in unmoved soil.
the wind carries,
and unwillfully
takes her along.
this year,
intended as the great,
somehow feels like
a bird who's lost melody.
fearfully, blindly,
walks into those doors,
not wanting to go beyond,
yet still wants to leave
those timeless tears.
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