Werose

If I could travel back in time
To return
All the things that were stolen in the war,
Before convicted of the crime
Sent to burn
Everything once loved so much, no more,
Hours to spend like the dreams that did end
With nothing real to show, only drama and shame
On my piteous face such an ordeal to replace
Have to conceal I know the address and the name
Of someone who once lived there oh I feel her disgrace
Or is it mine to wear an outworn wardrobe to own
Made by design somewhere like a thorn we rose unknown.



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 218 times
Written on 2021-08-23 at 19:37

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