living have been quite despiseful--
it does not make my life so wonderful.
for us to have precious gifts in our hands
and to not use it for the general good
and to have a poison of morsels
in the hands of mine
slowly breaks my stoic spine.
from the gasps of all the exhausting fight—
when my hands begin to crumble as i write,
i'll always hand my love back to you.
i am tired to have a grudge on my own world
and to have not my little hands being hold.
March 05, 2023 (10:01pm)
von, little hand
YOU ARE READING
Pieces of Moonbeams
PoetryPieces of Moonbeams | 2023 This poetry collection contains proses & proses woven from my heart. Pieces here are a part of me. Stained by longing, love, grief, hurt, happiness, and any other available emotion I could profoundly describe. -- I am rel...
