Poezie
Not love
1 min lectură·
Mediu
Is but a fleeting thing,
A butterfly with poisoned wings.
It's not for mortal men to have.
Not even when they sing.
A formless shape that conquers you
A shadow in the light.
It's nothing but a beat of heart
Beautiful when new.
She's filled with doubts
And pain, and sorrow.
She lies thru gritted teeth
She promises tomorrow
She lies
But that's not new.
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