The fire dances Soo playfully, beckoning him to the horizon.
What were the chances? You've left me for him; that sad, little, white dove who sang of a North Eastern wind.
Hauntingly, you've left me to sing of the arid south winds, the one that brings no change, only draught.
Here we sit, crying to the crow, with no innocence left in our hearts. Oh what have we done to the sun?
Dancing and laughing with maliciousness, we watched the sun bleed it's last dieing light into the moon's frigid arms.
When the sky drowned in the tears of the sea, the shore was beaten at our feet, how could the pain of Gaia be beneath me?
Now I lay underneath the vultures, who's glares sent poison into my soul, I have no more light to fight for your glassy heartbreak.
He draws in a last, shivering breath and the moon claims him as her wispy dust...
YOU ARE READING
A Girl's Collection of Bad Poetry.
PoetryA collection of my poetry, ranging from jumbled thoughts, ethereal, hormonal and everything in between... It's a glimpse of what goes on in this hurricane of mind of mine.
