• __adyasha__ 9w

    A scarp of blue fabric

    A smiling face with
    Burning heart.

    Bright eyes with
    Open wounds.

    Like a
    Beautiful summer
    And the full moon,
    He made his way
    Through the seasons
    Of sullen skies and 
    No moon nights.

    Hit with hard blows,
    He had nobody to hold.

    Made a living of his own,
    To have a roof kept on.

    Seven and young he was,
    When his parents died.
    A scrap of blue fabric he
    Held on to for the 
    Rest of his life. 
    ©__adyasha__