What compass is provided to the lost? And no, not those lost in place but those lost at heart. Nothing but unwavering stars and poorly moisten moss. Guides a passage way for those ever seeking.
Those misplaced will eventually grow cold. Left wandering through pointless terrain. We develop icy fingertips and a shivering hold. It seems we can't stop our forever trembling bodies.
Soon the begging weep of anxiety crawls, creeping. Promising you of better but only provides worse. They call upon their friends, a dire feeling. Making you shake unwanted shuckles to draw attention.
What keeps those ready to leap grounded? The unquestionable knowledge that tomorrow sirens have already sounded.
About the Creator
Natasha Burton
I’ve always had a passion for poetry, internal monologues and short stories! I hope you all enjoy what I produce, feedback is greatly appreciated :)
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Cravena day ago in Fiction
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