
Stairs descend down
Climbing can be tough
Eclipse from my soul
A canvas blank and rough
I hold my wounded heart
In hands made of gold
I ask my mind not to start
Nightmares written so old
Memories made, then buried
History is once more made
Sadness can’t be hurried
In wars, we are afraid
Ink spilled on blank faces
Deceit wait to be seen
Men wonder and stitch laces
In clouds their thoughts lean
World run wild with the wind
Forgotten stories laugh
Mystery our hearts would fill
Hold your groud, may you fall
– Jan @jahnavigouri
