Wanderer Poem by Agatha Eliza

The violet sky trickles..

a wanderer-

in solitude, a cloud roams

at the end of the rope;

it stops.it's raining!



The sun-just a memory..

of a sour burning disk;

the sorrow

acid burns the red eyes

the dream dies!



Just another day..

few hours left; a cold smile

the blurry exile,

of a romantic grave,

covered in ivy!



But I will never see

the rising sun..

or hear the icy sound

of the drops falling

down.lost and found!



The disintegrated show

of your mind,

but you're born of water

and it takes you alive-

anytime.far and wide!