Blood of Love
Like a swallow under the weight of a scorching sun
searching another land where we can stroll
under the shade of the walls of an ancient city
unincumbured by the threats of our own demons;
alas, all is in vain
these cities exist solely in an exhausted mind:
the blood of love is nothing but a fiction.
Maybe one day honey will drip without leaving any stians
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
