As the red sun sets,
Change into the cold dark night,
the moon rises to my sight
represent as a beacon into my blight.
Of these memories, of you and I.
Reminisce binds me,
words, so suddenly astound,
fabricate into sentences, which
Fit into us.
Inventing the common pattern of a tragic story
-Of a thousands words of no and none of the yes,
But it’s better to regret than to die deeply in a story.
Once again, beneath the shade of moon as my witness,
To testify against my ungodly blindness,
My mind and body will finally be ready,
For another repression to make me steady
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:30 AM UTC
As the red sun sets,
Change into the cold dark night,
the moon rises to my sight
represent as a beacon into my blight.
Of these memories, of you and I.
Reminisce binds me,
words, so suddenly astound,
fabricate into sentences, which
Fit into us.
Inventing the common pattern of a tragic story
-Of a thousands words of no and none of the yes,
But it’s better to regret than to die deeply in a story.
Once again, beneath the shade of moon as my witness,
To testify against my ungodly blindness,
My mind and body will finally be ready,
For another repression to make me steady
Request permission to use this poem