he?
he.
he was a man
made of rusted tin cans,
with wirey hairs
and shattered lights for eyes.
his words were oily,
greasy and graceless,
his mannerisms rough,
an untamed mess.
yet his heart?
his heart.
was a lump of gold.
and she?
she.
she was a woman
whose golden locks glimmered
in the dead of night,
whose eyes sung lullabies
to lull demons to sleep.
her laughs were soothing,
magical splashes of calm
and her smile could catch
the darkest of souls.
and her heart?
her heart.
was a lump of gold.
yet this?
this.
this was sadly no fairytale.
YOU ARE READING
It (#Wattys2016)
Poetry| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...
