The Red Balloon
The Red Balloon
I was adamant at six years old to never take balloons
In knowing they would fly away or later on diffuse
Deep inside I knew that nothing true could ever last
Happiness comes quick, but it's the pain that doesn't pass
And when I held her hand I had the very premonition
That one day she would drift away and leave me inhibitions
Then sure enough there came the day she sailed across the sky
And ever since I've come to loathe those dreadful words “good bye”
For I tied her string so tight around my heart it left a mark
To remind me of the way love burns with every fervent spark
I may not have my Love, rather the memory, the bruise;
But if you ask me now I think I’d take the red balloon
👁 1💬 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.