Why don’t they love?
Love, love…
The Princess of Blood
Blood, blood…
Have they never heard of?
Of, of…
The sweet wounded dove
She had hair as black as night
The tips touched the floor and were dazzling white
Like her teeth that flashed when she smiled
A smile that no one had seen for a while
How tragic it seems
That no one ever dreams
Of rescuing her from her
Small prison
No one cares to take her away
They don’t even know that she’s wasting away
Like paper that’s burnt
Or snow set on fire
A flame set to char her gleaming style
Hope seems to fade…
Day by day…
Her tears keep her alive
Through cold yesterday’s
Her wings were clipped but she’s over it
Sometimes you can still hear her song
Too bad it's too late to sing along...
YOU ARE READING
The Princess Of Blood
PoetryHer story has never been told. that is... until now... after her veins have been bled dry.
