You brought poetry to my pen.
You brought colors to my canvas.
You turned my moths into butterflies.
You calmed the storm in my being.
But only just to turn them all to ash.
The pen lost its ink.
The colors lost their beauty.
The butterflies lost their wings.
The calmness lost its battle to the storm.
Why must you lift me up,
When you would eventually left me falling
To the pits that has been eating me alive?
YOU ARE READING
Moon Child | Ongoing
Poetry"Home isn't always four walls. Sometimes it's one warm embrace And two people's heartbeats as one. " - Moon Child (StarHues) Collection of poems mostly tackling about falling in love with someone out of your reach. Musings about the pain of unrequit...
