On a canvas of thorns;
Smeared with a pallete of my life,
I drew you,
a little child,
hithering in the garden.
Crowned of unkempt hair;
chased by life.
.Smitten with frostbite,
Not of snow;
but of this endless enigma
that brought us so close;
were they your words on paper?
Today, my throat revolts in pain.
.Why shall you write a farewell,
in words so few;
When the letters of love;
bore words uncountable,
like grains of sand.
.Has it all slipped through my fingers?
I pick up those leaves golden;
beauty, devoid of life
Strewn on my path to home.LOKI
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Mirror Of Me | Poetry ✔
Poetry[a poetry collection] a dance to the fleeting emotions, notes to the music of life, a story of everything felt and told yet still, so many stories; so very untold. Of nights spent in solace of people so much more. Rankings: 🥇#poetry...