The winter's sky echoes
At some point in our fall.
And if I were meant
To be drowned in it,
I'd never be there to blossom in your spring.
You apologize for plucking me,
A lilac for your dank, cruel bedroom.
You never did see,
You turned summer into darkness.
And that lonesome, Aeolian wind
Emanated a bitter savor
As I claw for the memory
Of our winter again
YOU ARE READING
Stream of Consciousness
PoetryCome join us you emancipators from reality, You who wouldn't die for anything in this world, Though we are no more than martyrs. We'll never care for you, but you'll gain so much. We all have something worth hearing, and We all have something to le...
