Pockets Full of Rocks

Walking the sands in the dense mist morning rise, No understanding these sounds of crashing waves. Closed eyes alone once more on this moment.

Come back to myself begging footprints never followed, Feelings to be swallowed by this great ocean before. Death breathing down the neck do we fight.

Pockets full of rocks memories held to grasp, Missing emotions rescue me on this flight. Our wings grow bare the pain it will pass.

MakersPlace ArtWork

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