Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
In this dismal, unending winter, pervasively grey-gilded days, diamond rare, is, I have found: unadulterated, ray-of-sun-bursting,
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
I No more foreign, wine-dark oceans left to sail, No more uncharted waters, nor strange lands left,
Tell me, is liberty a gilded lie? Humankind has long loved doling out chains. Even so, Man still looks up to the sky, Pretends that his own brother, he’s not slain.
Who is that knocking at the door? Has ever a sound been so sweet? Could it be what I’ve long prayed for? Who is that knocking at the door?
Amour; unselfish love for sake of beloved- does such a thing exist these days? Maybe.
Among the living, how rare it is to find those who, truly alive, embrace lovely vibrancy; authentic in their own skin.
In my life, but perhaps not in yours, / friends are rare. And I, so completely / lonely, don’t know how I can fix it.
Bonfires in the storm-blackened night; defiant light in crushing dark. From the airplane, just a speck, but enough to be seen,
Her untouchable celestial home. Though accustomed to its vastness from birth, and to the deep darkness that lay between, the young star still sought out her kin to dance.
hues of golden: bred, not born, no less beautiful in your gilded captivity.
short, the number of your gray days; large, the grieving memories you hold.
I searched for the truth, though I found it not, Hidden, as it was, in a noisy sea, A vow’s worth nothing when it can be bought.
