I place a red rose at the
gate of your hopeless heart,
Hoping you would see, through the mist,
That there is still someone who cares.
Who has cried rivers, for your sake.
Who still stands,
Barefoot on the dead grass,
Cold and shivering.
Hoping one day,
You would open the gates,
And let me in.
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Spilling From My Pen ✔
Poetry* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The ink that spilled out of my pen formed these poetry. * ** * * * * * * * * * * ** ** * * ** * * ** * ** ** *** ** * * ** * * ** A random poetry collection that spill...
