I like to talk sometimes,
in my mind’s wild,
like in a storm,
to search, for peace.
like if it’s in the center,
of a hurricane.
I am a fisher,
waiting for good times,
but not just waiting,
still searching,
better fields.
Oh, all me,
old dreams,
dreams of dust,
falling trought my hand,
in a silent wind,
called time.
What I am wasting,
what am I not doing,
sitting in my own desert,
watching dust,
and dust,
in a hot cold night,
while instead of just the dust,
shall I search,
to find my own line,
a line for my own gold.
About the Creator
The Mager
Just a man in a mission.
Studying nuclear aerospace applications by day,
dreaming in the arts by night,
living in a contrast between me, my dreams and my destiny
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