Wandering thru the empty spaces, listening to the wind;
Alone and lonely still, the other is not my friend;
Hollow like a drum beating tattoos of the heart;
The never-ending noises pull my mind apart;
Trees like people standing still, moaning at the sky;
Centuries not moving and they all just wish to die;
To fall and rot and finally return to the bosom of the earth;
To redeem a wasted life for anything it's worth;
Still-life ghost-towns mired in thick memories;
Haunted by musings over divergent histories;
Travelling on I cannot stop or else I'll turn to stone;
And like always I must remain on this broken road alone.
this poem is spirituality
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Thank you!
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This comment has received a 0.29 % upvote from @booster thanks to: @bcell.
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