The Past
Brought the purple colour,
Blew the last drop of watery.
He wouldn't be the same way of my honour,
Lost in the middle of his mistery.
He was the sweetest sugar,
His bull eyes caught my wavy vibe.
Dug and even leant on the vulgar builder,
If only we had bowed The God's Five.
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.