"The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean," -Robert Louis Stevenson
Wrote a thing. Hope you like it. Photos are not mine.
White lines dragging into the glowing distance
Red dots blinking in unison
Perched on invisible towers
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| Fingers clenched in the sheets Dreary eyes and cold sunrises Everything always expires |
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| Blue streaks across the roads Cutting across the sacred space Bee-lining across a dead-end highway with no destination in mind. |
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| Peeled back lips and grimaces alike There must be something That doesn't expire |
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| White headlights cutting through the mystic darkness The ghost of life in the mere distance Shadows morph and shift around me Changing with each uneasy step |
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We are painted in silver linings That can only shine in the absence |
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| The meaning of this crazy world Is as clear as my thoughts Smoke and Mirrors |
How can I make sense of this mess I've made
I grasp onto threads of reality
Creating the fabric of truth
That encircles me like a sweater
The stars aglow
Look down on us
And see the beauty
We yearn to escape
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| Those eyes aglow Look up to the heavens And see the beauty We yearn to reach 
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| How can I make sense of this mess I've made I grasp onto threads of reality Creating the fabric of truth That encircles me like a sweater |
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~The WordShaker
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