Ash, by Dore' |
I look up at the sky, As the white slowly falls. Wishing I could fly, And just break through it all. Its suffocating, blinding, Cutting off air. I start clawing at my throat as it burns. The sounds of crying, screams, Shrieks for dear life. The wars around us, their not just bad dreams. They're real. |
Posted: 2010-01-21 01:49:51 UTC |
This poem has no votes yet. | To vote, you must be logged in. |