The Grave

White flowers, in my hands, so sweet;
This journey's now mournfully complete.
I thought t'would never come to this;
The ghost I now painfully miss.

As I lay these flowers upon the ground,
Tears fall profusely, without a sound.
My anger, it was wrongly aimed;
My heart, it cannot be tamed.

I realize now, as I stand in the cold,
That what I love is but a tale of old.
So this is goodbye to the person I knew,
And hello, world without a loveable you.

The End

57 comments about this poem Feed