I've saw freedom,
then it passed,
as I was watching,
looking me up.
I've the fear of something,
I don't know what,
but as true as it is,
it makes me stay down,
once more,
wanting to wait.
This pain is strong,
undisclosed and unseen,
a nightmare with no colour,
a land full of sand,
a land with no more dreams.
Where have I to go now,
to fought the enemy I know,
as I don't see what it is,
I fear to be lost.
One more time I'll go and search,
I need this answer,
as much I need air.
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
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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