Blood
The crimson red liquid
That we shed each day
Stains every chapter
Of our lives
Like a mark
That would stay
And bury itself
In the depths of
Our memories
And it cannot be erased
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If you don't get this poem, it's fine. I shall explain it after I do the next two poems.
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that girl
PoetryRemember that girl who sat alone? With a notebook and feather pen in hand? Well she was writing poetry about everything she saw, thought and went through. HIGHEST RANKING: #299 in poetry Started on [5/9/16] copyright: all rights reserved 2016
