Old Poem not very positive
(Infinity)
Loneliness of fog
Upon a pause of
stream of Consciousness
Drifting towards the winter
Surrounding me
To which I surrender
Under Its last Breathe,
Of the sun
Gasping at it sultry kiss
To finally let go of the warmth
That devised
A dream A memory
A Succumbed journey
Through to Which
I need to rest
To lay upon my memory’s
Turning seasons
Amongst a thunder and contempt
To venture out amongst,
The only place left
Which is deaths silent push
To infinity,
Anchor-less and adrift