Summer days
A golden haze,
Love used to be ablaze,
Alive, free, wild.
Winter nights,
All the he-mights,
Love is frozen in time,
Dead, secret, silent.
The quaint sentiments
Are folklore to our stories,
As happiness is nothing but a tale,
A myth for culture's sake.
The quaint sentiments
Are forgotten pens without ink,
Left behind, left to be left,
Left to stay lonely.
The voices are calling,
The memories are flooding,
The past is running,
And so the quaint sentiments die.
In a breeze so sweet,
You know how it used to be,
Kissing under gentle lights,
Life was a thrill ride for laughter.
But now they are left to perish,
Trying to forget what I always remember,
The quaint sentiments are old for joy,
And now our novelty is as grey as June skies.
I can hold onto the ledge
Like I held onto your hand.
I can leave light to darken,
Like I left myself in a disloyal mess.
They won't come back.
I've lost them, lost you.
So much for pursuing the roses,
And accepting the thorns.
Then why am I covered in bruises?
Why are there scars drawn to my skin?
Why are the old sentiments left to die?
Why are the new sentiments so loyal?
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Pain and Solitude
PoetryFor every person out there that was quiet, not because they chose to be so, but because they were choking in the smoke. Because their opinions were apparently not worth anything. Because they didn't know just how to say what they felt. For every per...
