Last night you got wasted.
I realized that I could never be happy with you.
If I'm the Capulet and your the Montague we are forbidden from birth, later we realize is death do us part.
How does it make sense?
If your royalty and I'm your peasant then let's make it present, make me your king, then well sing till where buried and burned.
Are we forbidden, so loves not given.
So we wait until Wednesday,
To be wedded in secret.
But no sooner you left me for a man, more powerful and wealthier.
We live in a world where hate is less painful then love.
And that's my last words in this world.
Goodbye my love.
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Poetry : A King's Poverty
PoetryA description of a king is almost defined by the way there Kingdom is perceive "Perfect" Nobody knows that, the ruler of the Land wears two crowns with two different coronation, One crown is for his might, the other is the side he never shows. As yo...
