***
I have embarked the land of yore,
My past of spurned memories —
Dejected and being forgotten,
In the dusty old attic of my mind.
Memories whose images weren't,
Pleasant in the slightest,
It was horrible but I cannot —
Burn it for those are also the root,
Of who I was, I am.
The cause of my happiness today,
Soon, I hope to tread down the road,
Of my yore without looking at it,
With disdain.
***
"There will be no rainbows and flowers without rains..."
YOU ARE READING
A World of Poems
Poetry"The dead that weaves in the spindle, A bundle of silk - woven and spun, Collected and collected, Until it's a huge massacre of stars." -Excerpt This is an original made poetry collection about life and are written in many forms of genre like love...
