The dove was unloved,
He was shoved and judged-
Until he shrugged in the blood.
the room was flooded,
With the beloved.
Was the myth true?
Who are you to say he was blue?
He threw everything away-
They'll play till the day ends,
Until he depends on only himself.
Was he deaf?
We should be there...
Shouldn't we?
Would it hurt, if we stood before him?
For the good should be withstood.
He sees only she-
He was lonely
And slowly he became the same.
He blamed, then claimed,
But what he had claimed, was no longer his.
Things appear-
He tears up, in fear.
The affairs he repairs, and compares.
Compares to what?
But he cannot shut the touched.
So what does he do?
What did he do to you, the few who were so glum?
Become thee in some slum.
They were free,
By the tree.
The tree- will guarantee
That she is the key, on getting out of here.
Here they appear and disappear.
You choose to come and go
But will you know?
He came through there to grow so slow, to be able to fly again.
YOU ARE READING
Poems by me
PoetryNO COPY RIGHT WHAT SO EVER I for one, have been in love with writing poetry since I was younger, I just could never seem to get what I need to feel to say. I've recently written some new poems and I'm deciding if I should post them or not. What do...
