THE JOURNEY

Let’s pick memories; let’s pick flowers I’ll raise a ring to the darkness in my chest and decorate it At the dead end all the time I can never escape I’ll let my sorrow ride on the birds in the sky and fly * This place is the basting The eternity that Binds me Whose going and returning passes by me is a dream The sun sets and hides the shadows; alone, I feel like crying The centers of my eyes that stain black will grow afraid This is place is the basting The eternity that Knitted the world Whose going and returning follows is the wind I strayed away for a moment and wept…