The rising sun shines too bright
In her losing eyes
It's blinding, too radiant, too brilliant
She knows her clock is ticking
The cancer in her skin, picking and picking away
She tries to relax, bask in the luminous light
But it's just not the same
The sound of clarion trumpets echo near
Soon that sun will melt into a faint haze
As her eyes begin to close
On that summer day.
(Lines 1-2 is a quote by John Green- not my words!)
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry Collection
PoetryThis is a collection of bad poetry I've managed to compose through the slurs of ink we've come to know as letters we form into what we know as language. The '*'s indicate that this poem is a little on the sad/darker side.
