discrete.

Daunting arrival of a scar for tomorrow,

I stetch out my arms for some,

pale sympathy to borrow

the paced soles of shoes call terrified to my feet,

'if any path lead somewhere,

where are our roads to meet?'

Time spanned across the endless days of trials and decay,

a glimpse of glimmering sunlight,

the only ally for a day.

I pull myself closer to an end,

as my hand reaches this price.

i've yet to calm my mind with naivity you see,

the naivity however lives within yourself

in so vibrant a grey.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar.