The leaves above my head
Chilling in the stones engraved for the dead
A light shines bright to carry the past to shining gates
For those who choose not to razor their fate
Thoughts of my progression come to find my self-profession in my form of outletting depression
or aggression.
Expression!!!
I fly…
A sprouted seed of feather growth from my tree I soar with the vast “tomorrow”
The one that I’ve come to finally know.