Catching Signals

entry picture

With every visible light
shades dissappears along the way,
burned to the ground,
invisible coloured sound,
restless needle in a hay.

Siting on the top,
catching signals with my brain,
exhausted, terryfied 
from the crowd below 
how is it possible to feel
so stuck in time, so alone?

With every visible light
shades turned out again,
arising from the ashes
visible colourblind man,
needle in the hay
never, never again.
 

life writingpoetrywritingwriting poetry

◄ Tokyo Lights

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