The numerous drops of crimson colors the sky,
As the heart of mine wilt and die.
I was wounded and torn apart,
Bits and pieces to a broken heart.
I was never tired of loving you.
And I was eager to prove it true.
Roses are red, Violets are blue,
That rose I picked was only you.
I thought I've found the one for me,
But I was wrong as you could see.
You left me there in that pouring rain,
I was broken, shattered and full of pain.
My heart was fragile like a glass,
I have become a speck of dust.
I may be wounded but I'm not dead.
I will never forget the things that you said.
The thorns from the rose, I chose
Came rushing to me.
The wings of love and the dove shut closed.
But I didn't found the key..
YOU ARE READING
The Rose and the Wounded
PoetryA poem about a man who thinks that he had found the right one for him.