Ever smiled back at the crescent moon?
Ever kissed Zephyr running his hand through your hair?
Ever flirted with fireflies winking at you?
Ever fallen in love and realised you were flying?
Ever filled the pen with blood and wrote from your heart?
Ever realised you were the heart of a dying star?
Ever looked at your shadow and laughed at race?
Ever judged with eyes closen and hearts open?
Ever taken a train not knowing where it will take you?
I have and will do so ... forever.
I don't know what to call it. by srinath-ste-v, literature
Literature
I don't know what to call it.
A fallen pen's wounded tip
Now writes with a heavy hand.
Losing its familiar grip,
Unyielding to my demand.
And I curse myself in spite
For the ink now can't be seen.
Lines fading into the white
With nothing to read between.
Words just refuse to conform
As thoughts turn into vapour.
The ones that do dare to form,
End up in crumpled paper
My mind's blank in a standstill
Some spaces that ink can't fill.