My regrets can wash the desiccated fields of yours,
On nights where clouds shape its forms,
Passions of bitterness it faithfully draws,
The innocence of your artistic claws,
Wounds the boundaries of the moon.
I hear your voice, within the cold winds,
Delicate whispers, flow my ears,
Bittersweet memories, as I daydream,
And scream your name to the desiccated valleys,
but all that I gather are the broken tunes of my echo.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Burning Papers-love poems
PoesíaThese set of poems were published to describe love in a very unique way, hope, love and hate all in one poem
