Waste
Morning comes with bloom,
Hours are spent in your room.
Waste, now comes the moon.
Now the past has come,
And the present it is gone.
The future? There's none.
The sons and daughters,
They will suffer the horror,
And will run further.
Never-ending road,
Although the flowers have showed.
Late, now they have flowed.
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.
