Written on those walls,
Another piece of sadness
Filled in their eyes,
Those tears
That are ruthless and
This abstract is a thyme.
Never considered
a broken glass join the cracks,
to pierce these swollen lesions
and break their heart apart
and into the forest, lost forever
an prophecy has been written
a destiny has to be found and now
they have become a fallen angel
with wings that will never fade by time.
Until those pieces are found
the angel can never find bliss
for their psyche and
will remain the ruthless
and be fallen
till ages of blissful thoughts.
Abrupt it does sound
unclear it can be but
the writing on those walls
will never perish unless
those sporadic pieces
shall be found and
restore the tear of
that ruthless heart.
YOU ARE READING
Death By a Pen: A Poem's Paradise
PoetryThey are just heart bleeding poems. Read it. Laugh at my stupidity. Relive my life one verse at a time.
