Beneath My Grave
⋆ ˚｡ ︶⭑ ꒷꒦︶ ⋆ ⁺₊
Flower that withers during winter,
Cold breeze humming for warm hugs.
And my tears won't be bitter,
If my love just died for an ace of clubs.
I once decorated my own grave,
So that I wouldn't wander.
As a spirit longing for what he once craved,
You create a fire behind my border.
I dug my own grave just to hold on.
Why do I even try? Why do I draw a line?
I don't feel like home when it starts to dawn.
My soul declines to accept the divine.
Promise me to live forever but live with another.
You live with others, disregarding my existence.
I'm now afraid to show my faded color.
Don't forget the memories, more distant.
Lifeless for such a bright day,
See me off to a bridge beneath my grave.
Regrets? Too late, but they will find a way.
I'll let you go—once my fave.
YOU ARE READING
Cornelia Street (Republished)
PoetryThrough sonnets inspired by Shakespeare, I reveal intimate secrets I've longed to express, despite fearing they'd go unheeded. They capture the anguish of unspoken emotions, yearning for acknowledgment, only to face silence. First Published: May 5...
