grave love — A Writer’s Soul

 

 

 

silhouette of graves

Photo by Micael Widell

The puddles in the street were the color of lead

These tastes and shapes of words spoken among the living and the dead

Night jasmine dances under an indigo sky

I stand here crying over the grave where we died

We could have had it all, been something envied and grand

But our chaos took over letting us fade away into our self made wasteland,
I mourn you , us, and everything we never could never be,

And all that is left are the graveyards of a failed love, leaving nothing of you,

and little left of me.

 

This poem was written in collaboration by my self and the talented Kristen. Check out her site at A Writer’s Soul

 

 

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