Wandering in the dark night through the backyard, Staring at the gray Siberian sky and hoping to spot a shooting star, he remained awake for he was haunted by his own ghosts, ghosts from his past, those unsettling images flashing before his eyes. They felt real lucid. Well, he had once believed those could not long be concealed. They were to show, sooner or later. Nonetheless he retreated to bed with a fear, indescribable. However hours went by And he was not far from the sweet breezy dawn with a moist scent of lavender. He then realised there ain't no time to ponder. And for that day once again he became a robotic machine.
The Poetry Hub✍️ 