like the shortest of four seasons,
heaven-sent is a brief moment.
wide awake at night,
these eyes scream to shut.
a voice rhyming words for lines,
love is a myth concealing the mind.
good things once here, once felt.
now they are all lie dead.
body tied to ground in disbelief.
'til the sun comes up i shall grieve.
until then,
this hurt is mine time and again.
YOU ARE READING
Other Than Forward
PoetryTo remember, To love and To always love. If people are able to choose their own path and have their own way of life, can't i just run another way other than forward?
