Our hearts were engraved on Whitest stone
And stood there and silent somewhere.
Its rough letters endured the sharpest rainfalls
Or the blast of falling and burning Fire.
Yet still standing there and silent somewhere
With creeping vines and withered Flowers
With elegance of gothic letters...
Beneath it, fragile beds bore
Blackened flesh and rotting veins
Gladly the ground embraced---
The love grew high
till it was burried by the sky.
YOU ARE READING
The Breathing Poems
PoesiaWhen I cannot speak, I cannot be mad, when I cannot share the happiness, all I have to do is to write the breathing poems.
