– misunderstood love.
the moon thinks it's a lone being,
lost in this world of unknown.
having forgotten that the stars still blanket it,
with an intention to bring security.
those stars that love the moon and the sun that gives it's warmth and makes the moon shine,
even if the sun itself has no gain of any sorts from it's donation of light. yet isn't this what you call love?
giving with no expectance of any gain.
YOU ARE READING
swevens of vernorexia
Poetryi shall bloom flowers of love in your heart, so you may bleed petals for blood when i leave.
