• whitequeen 9w

    Evenings and ends

    The sun sliding into the evening parade
    A golden grace
    Dusk of painted streets of black
    The abyss of greys
    Time seeping to timelessness
    The clock ticks a bit slow
    Fleeting yet stagnant
    The cycle repeats again
    Tangled in the moments, evergreen
    Lost in the captivating materialism
    In this wide world of ecstasy
    Biographies of hardships
    Speaking of mysterious norms
    Scrapped up of a thousand words
    Life is an open book, pages unread
    Lost in the panoramic horizon of blues and whites
    It's always the end that makes the most sense so try not to makes the sinners, the saints.