He speaks in words i will never understand.
Forlorn and melancholy drips from his words and fills my land.
His voice sings of riddles from ancient times,
with a thousand other meanings and perfect rhymes.
Yet I enjoy the taste of his poison,
Like his pain is some kind of magic potion.
YOU ARE READING
Drops of Poetry
PoetryDrops of Poetry It's raining outside my window Just like my emotions inside me The taste of the salty rain and sorrow Every problem falls on me like rain I catch it with my hand Turning it to rhymes and names I'm soaking wet from wher...
