Precious turn to trash.
Dump like a kitchen mess.
Whole become pieces.
Gold ended up bronze.
All over you see, is a heap.
Fall has to felt.
Heaven is now earth.
Lost, is you.
YOU ARE READING
In my midst Poetry
PoetryA compilation of random poetry. Amid the conviction of emotion.
Lost
Precious turn to trash.
Dump like a kitchen mess.
Whole become pieces.
Gold ended up bronze.
All over you see, is a heap.
Fall has to felt.
Heaven is now earth.
Lost, is you.
