The Heart Of A Blue Rose

Poetess.

If She Touches Love

the past slowly comes by
haunting like a shadow
at every street corner in town

the skin of her body grows spikes
silenced by her own mind
as her words solidify

below the heavens
an angel dancing
for the devil
playing his violin in disguise

the streets echo with her weeping
as she walks by—


from the touch of love,
the heart of a blue rose

desire, to slowly die

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Comments +

Comments2

  • sorenbarrett

    This one seems at first mysterius then grows passion and then darkness. A rather sad poem. Well done

    • Tony36

      BRAVO

    • Poetic Licence

      The passion grows only to then watch it slowly die, sad write



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