
With soaring expectation
gravity is forgotten,
rotating in the storm's center
utopia is found.
Illusions elevated,
creating a mirage
of impervious aspirations.
The squall line advances.
Constraints, snatched away,
immature fantasies
lose altitude,
plummet into abyss.
Surviving the aftermath,
mangled and splintered,
bleeding tears of devastation.
As the chaser accelerates,
unearthing new fields
of breath, to diminish.
~~~~~~~~~~







Nice poetry!



This is an awesome read, and I love the BG of choice as well daughter dear!
Big -hugs-
and Bravo!








27 old applause
