The blood begins to flow,
From the tired fingers now bruised.
Five months have passed,
But hope still remains skewed.
The lips have lost their softness,
From whispering unanswered prayers.
Love still remains a dream,
A dream that the daylight tears.
The eyes only harbor loneliness,
Sure that they will not see joy.
What is left in this world, but hate?
The heart is now a useless toy.
No comments:
Post a Comment