Dreams In Folds
The paper drifts into the air,
We know not what it holds.
Could be dreams or nightmares
Kept inside its folds.
The paper floats toward heaven,
Like a flower to the sun.
A ghost of what could have been,
A forgotten project not yet done.
We know not what it holds.
Could be dreams or nightmares
Kept inside its folds.
The paper floats toward heaven,
Like a flower to the sun.
A ghost of what could have been,
A forgotten project not yet done.
♠ ♠ ♠
This was really random. I hope everyone knows this. I'm new here, so ... yeah. Hi!