Her blush was like
crimson pomegranate
splutter on pale faces
Ever since they longed for her smile
But never notice Pain behind
She keep her head high and walk with delicacy
Up there meadows she splendor
when sunlight kisses her scarlet skin
She never hue and cry past,
though her art is illation of chaos
In her reign bees mesmerise by her vernal mist,
They never tasted her suave piousness
Her authenticity tugs at thy heartstrings
She masquerade her sore heart with livid tint
up there meadows
she linger in your soul like pristine mint.
YOU ARE READING
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬
PoesíaAn aperture from where light enter in the world of a fragmentary girl. "A set of poetry" All the poems are entirely written by me.©®
