On the street where I live,
There is a tree.
A cherry tree.
A cherry tree with dark red leaves.
And an old swing.
An old swing that they call a "porch swing".
A porch swing on an old cherry tree
An old cherry tree that has existed longer than you or me
On the street where I live,
There is a bush.
A big, green bush.
That shrivels to brown every winter.
A bush that flowers every spring.
A bush that is covered with multicoloured flowers
A bush that attracts the attention of everyone who passes.
A bush that is really just a bush.
A beautiful bush.
On the street where I live,
There is happiness.
Children laughing and running through the streets.
Mothers trailing behind, gossiping.
People getting the mail and talking
Organizing parties and potlucks.
Having fun, living life.
As I watch from behind this window.
Yearning to leave, to see the world the way they do.
Maybe if I'm like them, it won't seem so grey.
On the street where I live,
There is sadness.
There are screams and shouts,
Wails and weeping.
The sound of glass shattering, children crying-
Or maybe that's all in my head.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Hearts
PoetryI write, because I am.// Too many emotions, // Overflowing, // As my heart bleeds // Words onto paper. // I write, // Therefore I am. ------------------- Cover credit goes to @WattAnOtaku OHMYGODTHAN...
