My hands shuffle,
As you once again mention,
I'm quiet,
My head a whole forest behind dialogue,
As down the mountain side,
I crawl, closer to the wood winds in the willows,
The birds that call of for fish and company, they pray.
My sticks and stones although I surely don't think will work.
Because the calls the echo inside my brain just as much as they do the ravines,
I just wish for open valley bogs,
I cannot now tell do I prey upon, or do I do my best not to seek.
YOU ARE READING
When Sanity is Lost
PoetryAnd I just couldn't stop, before I knew it I was picking the pen up again. My second book in process this is soon to begin editing once my last one is done. As always hope you enjoy and find my insta @these.are.true.feelings
