Love Poetry Collections (SEASON 2)

48

Sun and Moon—Flower

I am not a gazer—nevertheless being blind,
For my eyes are shut as the sun shot me an odd,
Perhaps, and an equal feeling.

Even our own rays...erase those dims and dilemmas pelt unto our scorching deep within my skin,
To trim those dead callused old feeling...

To not cut it because its such a waste,
In no haste, I'll bathed myself outside, Although permeated in side, wherein it helps my nerves to gain such laid-backa strength.

It's like it showers me joy and glory and hope,
For life will just an end if you'll believe it makes the sound of an ending,
Because when darkness finally appears in the gleaming night sky, and with a ring of holocaust role rope,
I'll extend my arms, up high, saying to no dead mailings.

To pluck those dull stars and to put it in my eyes,
Resembling into those fears and same fears.

Its a flower, its a moon...
No roots but bear fruits.

Of fascinating wonders of being a searcher even though the eyes quite close,
Of something more than fascinates and intricates...

Sun and flowers are made of our sunshine and bedazzled puzzles.

Puzzled natures...puzzled creatures,

💜: ♡♡~~say says,
@jas

:an artwork of who says-it-all.