The sky is tainted with red brushes of paint
The cool breeze blowed from the east
The grass moved before the wind like waves
The swing on the tree danced back and forth
The forlorn face rode the slab of wood
With watermarks on the cheeks
And the bitter line on her lips
The grief tore at her heart
For she fell in the trap
Of a treacherous thing called love.
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Tea Poetry
PoetryPoetry and noise amidst stillness. When words are too much to bear And they want to spillover Let go and unravel The inner voice This won't be possible If I didn't let go of the fear that nobody will appreciate. Yet, the words were too heavy to ca...
