Dead skies, dry air,
Silence; voices I hear screaming,
No cure —sent to sailing.
Seemed to be my accompany
As you weave your way through
The wind changes, brushing all over my skin.
An empty room tuned a familiar melody
The skies turned blue, the trees turned green.
It seemed to be a perfect scene.
Wondering why your eyes twinkle like stars,
And smiles brightly shinning from afar
To me; I'm about to catch it when you drifted.
I almost grasp my perfect scene,
When the melody started to turned off.
The wind started to turn to flames, burning my whole being; breaking what is fragile --
--It's not for me, it's for someone else...
©zionlois
Z