Wandering across the skies,

a thousand miles,

the feather of a dead bird,

led by nothing, but lewd.

Struck by a thunderstorm

fell to the ground like a worm,

like a newborn from the mother's womb,

close to an old king's tomb,

with a vision so blur,

can only see her,

it never did hurt,

found it so absurd,

to have left with nothing but the quill,

nothing able to deliver the final kill.

but when it tears apart your heart

leaving behind a scar,

you realise you are in love with the warmth of the earth.

I study in a place named after an old king.