With the dusty breeze, I grew winged.
Whenever I fly, I fall, as if I to hell so dear.
Beside me, on the plastic tree,
all black is the humanised white dove,
it flies no more, it's civilised.
In the blank park, O thee,
toss human meat and within.
The doves will love you,
as a star's shadow on your eye,
will beg for blood too.
Yet, on the roadless blank,
run, fly even, for cruelty
is in the holy entity
and in your dearest dove.
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I am truly thankful to you, dear reader, for reading my poetry book. I had published several on this website, yet I deleted them all; A fresh start one may say! I want to know your opinion about this poem, your HONEST opinion :)
Hope you enjoyed it!
YOU ARE READING
Ye
PoesíaHighest rank: #164 :) This book is a poetry one. You may, very likely, relate to what I've written so far. For I'm the same as anyone else, but with a little twist which is I can write poetry (I'm no Baudelaire). It is hard to write about poetry for...
