The sun roars as like a lion
happiness always blinks of warmth
then closes at time of sleep
but why is love like a ray
and not a rose
I rather it be a branch, a mud
something that I could feel
perhaps a pound of dirt
I may not be able to carry it
but love I could never endure
but atleast I will remember
and... feel
if we must die first to see
if heaven is the only one with love
then love...
would be neither a ray
nor a rose...
A contest entry
- prewrite conest by serenity silvermoon.
1500 points, ended June 12, 429 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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