Of Hundred Poems
A castle of yellow leaves, and a smile
a blue painted sky, and an ocean just the same
a ship, sailing a kiss, across the ocean and the sky
restless, in the direction of another's lips,
Giants and white creatures of the moon
hunting for trophies,
across the moon's white and freckled cheeks,
and a god, spilling all his stars, in the eyes of a muse.
Hundreds of poems, millions of verses
and a fool spilling the ink of his pen
out of love, for the November that left him
for the hug of a barbarian.
A night's dream followed by a morning
a story of love and then nothing.
A memento of you and me
a girl that ran away, like a butterfly
and a boy that in her absence, became a man.
Shaped by her lips,
this is the story of his poems,
not about love
not about hate
but about something that he saw
in the eyes of November.
It's a funny story now, when I think about it.
It's not tragic anymore.
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Comments about this poem (Of Hundred Poems by Of Muses )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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