Every poem
that I make,
the strokes of black ink;
is a memory of you
Your name
vibrating in the wind
lurking in my mind
is all that I know,
and is all that I ever dreamed to write
I stare,
I blinked,
The pain shatters me
And the truth rushed through my veins
That, I know,
I loved you more than love ever allowed.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
Every poem
that I make,
the strokes of black ink;
is a memory of you
Your name
vibrating in the wind
lurking in my mind
is all that I know,
and is all that I ever dreamed to write
I stare,
I blinked,
The pain shatters me
And the truth rushed through my veins
That, I know,
I loved you more than love ever allowed.
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