Drops of Dried Ink

Fri, 11/17/2017 - 17:32 -- chellie

To the world,

a blur of beautiful platues 

and a charming little blue pond.

 

I speak to the age of that I do not know well

a place in the world for me

is like writing on paper 

with only dried ink.

 

For those who simply cannot imagine

the warmth of their mothers

and their father's strength

how can I live in this world 

where I do not have many of people

who just simply care about me.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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