In the stillness of the morning's hush,
A wing of air whispers, soft as a blush.
Echoes of stars and moon's soft light.
A gentle breeze, a tender touch,
It stirs the leaves with a lover's clutch.
In its caress, the world awakes,
To the melody that the wind forsakes.
Through valleys deep and the mountains high,
The wing of air soars across the sky.
It carries dreams on unseen wings,
Where hope and sorrow softly sings.
In its flight, it knows no care,
A fleeting moment, beyond compare.
For in its touch, we feel the grace,
About the Creator
Isra
Versatile writer skilled in both tale & stories. Captivate readers with engaging content & immersive narratives. Passionate about informing, inspiring, & entertaining through words.
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181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Congrats that's really nice