My Creation
Jan 9, 2021
I move at a snail’s pace
painstakingly slow.
The world around me
I watch as it runs.
Barely any decades under my belt, yet I feel an old soul
The shadow looms over me providing all the shade I could ever need…
or want.
So much shade, I can’t see who is responsible
I sit. It’s too late.
I hear rain.
Yet I remain dry.