People say writing poems is meant to be about rhyme and rhythm,
But how do I do that if I can’t stay in time with my own life decisions?
I feel as though I need myself a muse,
I think I have it, my own, personal blues.
See, I can’t help feeling down from time to time.
Since when is loving someone a monumental crime?
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring,
I think you’ll always be my favourite thing.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:20 AM UTC
there is a method to my madness
i admit
it may seem
a
w
r
y
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:17 AM UTC
waterdrops
they fall off leaves
after a cold winters storm
the broken branches, a reminder of the harsh weather
teardrops
they fall off my cheeks
after a cold night alone
the broken pieces of my heart remind me i'm alive
blooddrops
they fall down her skin
after another soul shattered
the cuts, a reminder she's alone
teardrops
they stream down my cheeks
as the one i love, leaves again
another shattered soul, falls to the ground
waterdrops
dripping from leaves
on the day they got married
this broken soul flourishes again
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC