The sky was then my roof,
Upon our years, stories.
I felt winds that carried
Humanities treaties…
The sky spilled into
The stairwell
And swept me down,
I passed a century
And near the bottom was found.
Black birds flew above
Shedding their iron feathers
Laying their cloth of ruble,
How their whispers spelled trouble.
With me was the sky
As heavy as the years,
And with me i thought i should
Then have it, even so, near.
ahorsealone 
Abid, I am amazed by your approach-non-violent, but unbreakable.
Great poem my friend.
so glad you started a blog, i’ll be stalking it from time to time
🙂
This poem is beyond excellent. The second to last stanza was my favorite.
I passed a century
Of myself as i ran down,
And near the bottom found
The last years I had known.
O_O
non-comment comment
🙂