Blooms in Indigo
Every day poems from a very ordinary aspiring poet
Saturday, June 7, 2014
It runs
Trickling,
It goes, downwards, onwards, never stopping
It evades both of us and we are not eternals
Nor ethereal, nor angels- not even vampires
We would soon expire.
Don’t try to touch it, don’t try to go back- it bites
Time
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