Monday, May 28, 2007
I am a river run dry,
A barren wasteland
that once was green.
I look to the heavens,
Seeking the caress of rain
on my thirsty parched skin.
I have no more to give,
All that remains is rock and dirt
In place of what used to be me.
by nutty at 3:58 PM |
5 Comments:
Melancholic.
Rains shall pour. It always does. Time.
rock......paper......scissors......
hehehe......arbit huh!
Uh oh!
@cuckoo - Melancholy is the breeding ground poetry .. how about that?! :)
@zee - gurl i lou u but :-p
@ruchika - no worries all good :)
awesomely hard hitting.
The beauty of poetry lies in its pain. You have expressed both well.
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