While I walk on the ground's wing,
cloud's dashes kissed my cheeks & died.
Their mask is thicker than itself,
but they, the blue tears, cursed me.
On my ever locked thought door,
tapping is the featherless raven.
I unfeathered, by walking viciously,
his message from ashore.
O butterfly! why so that.
That red fog in thy hands.
That childish smell in thy kill.
O bloody butterfly! why so that.
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Hello! Again I believe I've seen your comment on my other poems by nowIf not please comment on this poem :)
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PoezjaHighest 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...
