The lift when my travel
bag is packed,
The heart thumbs and tries
to prophecy
About those distant
whores of beauty
Who often seduce my
life drive.
Innocent fears slowly
drown
In the joy of the
takeoff,
Wider perspectives
perch themselves nearer;
With each gaze, and
gust of the wind,
That lifts the hair off
my face,
Disillusioned colours
of life
Clear up into newer
shades.
the description of the final seconds of take off was seriously imagined and scratched-out giving a wide smile of the pleasure of death, the real death. good words. cheerz brother.
ReplyDelete:) Thanks for the read bro.cheers \m/
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