She was the very essence of beauty
She was the spitting image of fire
And the ocean
All bottled up in one.
He wanted to know
Why sometimes her red lips
Would put on a smile
But her eyes
Were elsewhere
And why she overthought
About too much.
"Why," he asked, "do you think,
That she thinks no one knows?"
"Knows what?" His friend replied.
"That she isn't happy yet.
I mean, does she even know?
What that feeling is?
The feeling of a dying star?
The feeling of loneliness in a room full of people?
Do you think she knows?"
"You see, she may be a very beautiful white rose, my friend,
But she still has shadows."
YOU ARE READING
A Plethora Of Poems
PoetryOn my other account (acciolovee) I also have a book of poems, however, this is obviously my new one. These are some poems I have been planning to publish and maybe a couple old ones from my other book. Please read, vote, and most importantly, enjoy...
