That dove,
Who was once spoke so highly of,
Is tired.
That dove no longer feels admired.
That dove is no longer lovely,
And pertains a personality that's quite ugly.
That dove is no longer lively,
Her once big heart,
Is now quite tiny,
And although not lonely anymore,
That dove is just as alone as she was before.
The dove chokes;
From the dark shroud that lingers in her heart.
That dove lost her hope,
And fell utterly apart.
The dove no longer breathes;
For the air has been polluted.
The dove was there alone,
And was badly wounded.
This time,
That snail did not come to the dove's rescue;
And she laid there,
Until everything stopped.
-Jocelynn Conway-Layman
YOU ARE READING
My Composition of Broken
PoetryThis is a collection of my poems. My poems are distinct from one another. However, the two poems I'll be featuring aren't my own work, but they were written about me by a special person, and because I treasure them so much, I wanted to share the exc...
