My love is like a broken thing
a thing without it's wings,
but still it from my heart shall spring
like many other things.
It cannot fly, it cannot be,
but still somehow it lives.
Why don't you know, why don't you see,
how everything it gives
to you, whom my heart cherishes,
to you, whom my soul loves.
And it, though broken, it still wishes,
that whole for you it was.
But it is not, and it shan't be.
My love is broken, can't you see?
YOU ARE READING
Myšlenky mysli zmatené. Nejen z krabice
PoetryKrátké prózy a básně, co člověka zrovna napadne. Ve většině díla se vyskytují silné naturalistické prvky. Za cover mockrát děkuji skvělé Artie Wiles 🖤
