When love declines
the heart grows cold
It becomes the moonlight
that chills the soul
Polished like marble
with all of its frills
It withers away
Attemptable to ****
What cold singing
from frigid lips
When the heart grows weary
From the vice of life's grips
When prayers become weeds
Scattered by wind
Left with nothing
But the hollow within
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 4:46 AM UTC
When love declines
the heart grows cold
It becomes the moonlight
that chills the soul
Polished like marble
with all of its frills
It withers away
Attemptable to ****
What cold singing
from frigid lips
When the heart grows weary
From the vice of life's grips
When prayers become weeds
Scattered by wind
Left with nothing
But the hollow within
Request permission to use this poem