Thousands of dead roses littering my path, a thousand dead roses, symbols of my past.
Over the road and across the street a thousand dead roses cover the corner where we used to meet.
Colours plenty, all withered and dead,
I send you these roses to pay my debt.
And I hope we shall meet, my friend, when the roses are in bloom again.
YOU ARE READING
The Adventures Of A Wondering Heart
PoetryThis is a book containing the poems/things I write at 4am. This is my own form of therapy, my place for unfiltered self expression. And if for whatever reason someone reads it and enjoys it, it's my own way of saying that you're not alone. So enjoy.
