When depression strikes,
A door for poetry opens.
The door that lets out the misery
The pain that keep hurting me
In turn invites public sympathy
By posting some of these poetry
Poetry that grew, from the feelings I have taken out.
Poetry that nourished, from the tears that I have shed
Poetry that would die down as times passes by.
And what I hope for,
Is when the leaves of my peotry starts to fall to the ground
My heart would be healed from the pain that once surround.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
When depression strikes,
A door for poetry opens.
The door that lets out the misery
The pain that keep hurting me
In turn invites public sympathy
By posting some of these poetry
Poetry that grew, from the feelings I have taken out.
Poetry that nourished, from the tears that I have shed
Poetry that would die down as times passes by.
And what I hope for,
Is when the leaves of my peotry starts to fall to the ground
My heart would be healed from the pain that once surround.
