This is a dedicated poem to he who,
Lives the life of an outcast.
Though no outcast to overcast.
To he who lived a life under the clouds,
Who reigned within the rain
Irises holding the eye of the storm.
To he who bears the soul of a hurricane.
To he who swore he bore the title of a melancholic,
Who wanted more than drowning in vodka-tonic.
To he who believes he discovered answers to lifes biggest conundrums.
This is a poem dedicated to the poet who wrote it.
The one overflowing with emotion who found self love and is happy with what loves done.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 3:45 AM UTC
This is a dedicated poem to he who,
Lives the life of an outcast.
Though no outcast to overcast.
To he who lived a life under the clouds,
Who reigned within the rain
Irises holding the eye of the storm.
To he who bears the soul of a hurricane.
To he who swore he bore the title of a melancholic,
Who wanted more than drowning in vodka-tonic.
To he who believes he discovered answers to lifes biggest conundrums.
This is a poem dedicated to the poet who wrote it.
The one overflowing with emotion who found self love and is happy with what loves done.
