When he's a couple of years older than I am
he would look into my eyes
like words seem to pass from those;
like fires burning every vein of my sight.
How'd he guess it's me?
How'd he know five years been done?
For when my lips
wouldn't console a heart that once again broke,
he gave a love that once was told.
And when my arms are tired
And I could care less,
He'd block my way
and never let go of this hold.
And when my words seem so unfair
he showered me with petals perfuming the air
How I wish everything hasn't wrong;
that even when seasons have gone out
He wouldn't been a rose
that never came back.
YOU ARE READING
Into the Deep
PoetryInspired by stories of women and love I love scenes that are tangled And wrapped in cryptic form of uncertainty. And to which, by the sea, with my pen Under the setting sun I caught myself helpless to the deep of its light. Use of these pieces (or...
