the gift of a loved one, shining in hand
will tarnish in the sweat and the blood of the past
and soon the brass and the silver of band
turns old and unpolished, never to last
'twas never really shining, said she to her
and back spit the fire of hate
for the ones were open were only a void
and the silence has much to abate
so forgive me if I use words wrong,
but sometimes in anger we do
I knew that the sadness wouldn't be for long
and that now love isn't ever true
but matters it not now, the past is the past
and warning were given to you
whatever happens, is meant to, no lie is meant to last.
YOU ARE READING
complacent
Poesíaquieter achieved poems from the girl who thinks of stars and angels
