She has perfectly moulded strature
Made of synthetic silver clay
She has a cold and haughty nature
Eyes with stormy waves clashing on the bay
She has features striking and mature
Her fake, blinding smile doesn't fray.
She has no warmth in her heart
To the touch she is cold
Nobody sees the war start
Because she is a beauty to behold
Between herself and the crowds she can't tell apart
As they are made out of the same perfect mould.
XxTanny
(Let me know what you think this poem is about)
YOU ARE READING
Enraptured
Poetry° poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, it takes origin from emotion collected in tranquility ° //William Wordsworth// highest rank: #93 in poetry on 28/10/2017
