Golden embers drip from the burning wood and turn to ash;
Oh how I wish you were here.
I spent years in this place loving you
Before I even knew you could be mine.
The stars are even dimmer than before
And I can't help but cry out to the moon through the dark treeline.
I ache.
YOU ARE READING
july
Poetry✰ a collection of poems / short pieces by me, about me. ✰ i hope you can find a meaning in them that relates to yourself too! ✰ if not, i hope it at least sounds pretty. haha! ---- first published on 1 november 2021 ongoing work ---- thank you for r...
