The bird flies through the moment with a broken wing,
Its eyes blind to a crystal that lies to its advance.
Gracefully yet unapologetically its dull head strikes the glass.
A crack begins to grow like a God seeing rise to a web of rivers.
Such a sightless bird leaves upon the vase a strike,
And from such an impact, quietly bleeds fortitude.
That bird embodied their words and taunts,
And such a vase was the fabric of my sanity.
I really like your photography. :) If I may ask, some of those photos look like they are from Chernobyl, are they? :D
Thank you for your appreciation!
I have a great sentiment for Chernobyl and Pripyat, they’re like paragon for me. I look for places that give off the same vibe. Your opinion convinces me that my efforts aren’t futile.
One day I’ll confront all my work with Chernobyl NPP scenery, but definetely not now, I’ll have to wait ;)