When the blue blurs into grey.

I often wait and wait, and wait. 

The time keeps flowing, and I don’t move an inch.

The blues of the sky blurs into grey, 

and my answers find their way 

back in colors.

Hills in my sight is calling out,

 and the forest around is leaving soft whispers that sound like tales.

These trees must feel so lonely in the dark of night, yet so powerful.

There's barely any space in my head, 

but these branches make their way, 

as the roots crawl on the insides of my wall.

Time is still flowing. 

So offbeat, it wouldn't match my pace, and I refuse to dance to its tunes.

I begin my trails at odd hours, for the destination is unknown.

But I must move.

Before these silent cries turn into furious flames 

Before it burns everything inside me.