In your hair my hands run,
while my world explodes;
on your face lies my sun,
if the stars must implode;
our confounding emotions,
we do symbolically share,
for after each other's thoughts,
our feelings scream only care;
and under the moon,
must I rapidly snare,
over egoistical people,
who woo my lover dare;
wherefore together,
we are already molded,
into this carved statue,
of which is carefully folded;
and there I melt,
under your sorrowful gaze,
with the feelings I felt,
filling your beloved haze;
for under your morning sire,
do our eyes overglaze,
as we are but mere players,
wherein love plays the maze.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
