a story

Learn more about other poetry terms

Alone, in a tower, A girl weaves her hair. While dangling and untangling it, She adds her tears to the pond below.   Alone, but for the other spoils Adorning the interior.
  P       L           I              N                 K There plunks another silver wish, Down into my depths with a swish, Whispers of love and wealth catch my ears,
my stone, my stone  oh my cold stone heart  why are you callaous and set apart? my black, my black oh my shriveled black heart? why when I need you, do you depart? my hard, my hard
though blind he could see though healed he still bleeds though it is over he still grieves though he is torn he proceeds  though young, he still leads  though memories fill his sleep
Subscribe to a story