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.
Copyright © Siiiii mmmmm | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment