My story has been painted
Thy self forsaken
Pure became tainted
Identity was taken
Lifeless but haven't died
A Hollow soul
Hovering inside
Plastered to my vessels mold
A mere image of the old me
All there is left to see
A tragic work of art
Despondently filled heart
Moving so exquisitely with grace
Tears crawl down the sculpted planes of my face
A manikin in its place
YOU ARE READING
Tide (Poems)
PoetryTides are always changing The sun and the moon arranging Beauty and destruction Like a artistic production Its all in the journey of riding the tide of life First place winner at the We are writers awards. Copyrighted,All Rights Reserved
