The boy who cries blood
Deep in the woods,
So well hidden, it can't be seen,
Is a meadow,
Which seems like a dream.
With trees of crystal,
That blinds the eyes and leaves too sharp to touch,
And cuts, if anyone tries.
So many wonders,
it's an endless list.
So many colours,
It's unbelievable they exist.
In the list, what stands up high,
Is just a boy, it's not a lie.
But the reason why he takes the price,
Is the scarlet river that runs from his eyes.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy who cries blood
PoetryA story written in the form of verse, I'll post a part a day, enjoy :). Note: This sonnet is dedicated to my friend Athir, I miss you bud. Hope you're happy up there.