These feet keep moving on streets
that I seek until I become weak.
post
A Poet’s dream is to be heard
I am blessed to have felt
your light. It burns bright.
We live in a space station.
Callaced and rough, tough
skin cuts when touched.
These feet keep moving on streets
that I seek until I become weak.
A Poet’s dream is to be heard
I am blessed to have felt
your light. It burns bright.
We live in a space station.
Callaced and rough, tough
skin cuts when touched.
