A sweater I put on, worn and worn.
To keep me safe, to keep me warm.
The outside soft, the inside thorns.
Tempting is, my love forlorn.
The sweater stays, ripped and torn.
For lost labors that I mourn.
A love has died, a love is born.
Hopeless is, my love forlorn.
To be so close, yet all so far.
I cannot reach, yet here you are.
I cannot leap, the jump's too hard.
Forlorn love tears us apart...
Disdainful tears, that mark my cheeks.
My helpless world, is far too bleak.
Without my strength I seem so meek.
Forlorn love makes me feel weak.
A sweater I put on, worn and worn.
To keep me safe, to keep me warm.
Love is pain, and love is scorn.
Wretched is, my love forlorn.
Author's Note:
I wanted to try out this extremely poetic writing style, and while it is quite different to how I usually write poems, I still enjoyed writing it. And even I, the author, don't know exactly what it means. So if you have any brilliant ideas of what this means to you, I highly encourage you to comment it. Thank you for reading, have a nice day.
-I. Quill
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Rain Clouds
PoetrySimple poems, each with a story just behind them. ••• This book will be updated whenever I write a new poem worth posting. I draw inspiration either from my own complicated emotions, or sometimes even stories I've created in my mind. I suppose only...
