Seven points,
floating,
drifting,
forever alone, marooned on a midnight ocean.
Fated to die, burning ball, turned to winters heart.
Drifting alone and cold,
so very cold.
Another victim of venomous time.
Submitted by Curtis Goldthorpe (15)
This post was submitted by a pupil from WHEC as part of a creative writing project between WHEC, WHALE Arts, the Digital Sentinel and author Sophie Cooke funded by the Kiran’s Trust. You can find some of the other posts here.
