She was a Shakespeare's sonnet,
Beautiful but obscure;
Her scent lingered everywhere,
Like the late night haze,
Her ability to scribble; they say it's a blessing,
The benevolent gift from god;
Undiscovered that it was a curse,
Casted upon by her history;
Jinxed in every corner of her library.
Started from the rock bottom,
Had the capability of none,
But the only thing which ran through her veins
was the willpower of the tons.
In the age of being controlled,
With the mindset so twisted;
Kid who is expected to act like an adult,
Adult who is expected to act like a kid;
Turncoats came over and all she did was relinquish.
The beauty of her nature,
The beauty so obscure,
Eroded heart so opaque;
Plucking out the thorns,
Harvested by the devils with horns.
In the world where in which
all the people were disordered words,
She was a Shakespeare's sonnet,
Beautiful but obscure;
Thriving with the capability of none
But the willpower of the tons.
YOU ARE READING
Ocean of words
PoetryThese are the ocean of words, I can't talk them out or hide, I wanna shout them to the world, But my courage is long gone in the tides...
