Tis' I write,
For hearts of two.
One of obliviousness.
The other, deluged.
For I am an author,
Whose mind's convoluted,
Of what to do;
To love mindlessly or bid adieu.
For this is a sojourn
Of aphonic words, I've yet to mourn.
A ride that's neither an epoch nor a jaunt,
Bringing either blithe or daunt.
Now I speak with words,
Carefully crafted to be aureate.
To placate a heart's beating,
One with never-ending fret.
Thus, here I offer this beau geste,
Made to be that of dulcet.
Molded for the ears,
But only yours to impress.
YOU ARE READING
Of Flowery Words (I Wanted To Say)
RandomWhy not just give actual flowers? Well, flowers are a cute gift to show devotion. But don't you think that words can also do the same? If not more? These words I give can show all my devotion, bare emotions, and consolation. While flowers wilt, and...
