My every breath
From bruised lips come.
Without a rest,
Such songs are sung
Of summer nights,
Sweet dawns of strife
And floating lights.
Oh, what a half empty life.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection Of Various Poems
PoetryBet you didnt know I write weird, spur-of-the-moment poetry only my friends like, huh?
Strife
My every breath
From bruised lips come.
Without a rest,
Such songs are sung
Of summer nights,
Sweet dawns of strife
And floating lights.
Oh, what a half empty life.
