The moon is made of beauty,
The stars are made of grace,
Fire burns in the corner,
It's heat feels like an embrace,
Its red tips lick my fingers,
As I stick them out,
But the fire burns me,
And I pull back with a shout,
Maybe it looks pretty,
But I guess I shouldn't touch,
So that it doesn't burn me,
Because it hurts very much.
YOU ARE READING
Poems and Random Descriptions
RandomRandom things that I like to write when I feel bursts of inspiration. Most of them will likely be poems.
