Number 169
What few might see is that on the inside i’m dead, i’ve burnt my wings while pretending to be this almighty power that holds life in it’s hand.
A pale copy of my former glory, the thoughts are always there, but the powers are dead since long ago and soon it will all end.
The last stones along the road towards the summit are all placed, it’s not far now, it’s not far at all until the end.
When my journey through time reaches it’s destination and my piece is complete and my deed is done. That which remains is to find a place of solitude…
Tags: Poetry
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