Rumors
Flowers on a bed
Lilies on a grave;
Every lived soul
Becomes a slave
To the love we want,
And the dying we get -
Life is rudimentary rumors
And salient storms;
It's an unfinished life
In many forms
Of all the stories we have heard from afar,
Rumors, of a Land where lives no regret -
poem by Smoky Hoss
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.