White, pale, light, yet shallow. Its thin, flat, then crumbled. Four corners, stretched out wide. Its blanc, yet no light back will follow. Stroking the pen on paper, it pokes a hole. The hole small, the hole tiny, the hole barely there to the naked eye, yet makes another die. Out comes red in splatters, as brown and black takes form. More holes seem to appear as white cant overcome. Soon gone. Overshadowed by sun. Light makes up the red, the brown, the black and the crown. Crows circling over. Is it over?
Hello again, hope you enjoyed this write concerning war and terror. This is a huge problem in the world now adays, and not something people know the vastness of.
If you liked this, then check out my blog for more! I do Poems and Pictures for now, but mor is sure to popp up later. ^^ you can find me here: @the.wise
And have a nice day!
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