The phantom world of hope and sorrow
sometimes goes darker
in the shades of silence,
When this hand reaches for yours
To lead me to the open court
where resides the strangers
of this shallow heart.
This world sometimes fades away
with the wild tempest of desire,
When the shattered souls laugh
at the broken tales
of two restless souls.
Sometimes when the sunrays faint
into the smudged pinks of the horizon,
the pain arouses in the room
and fills it with the smoke of death,
until which, this world's restless.
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
