Weeping under the shade of a willow,
Crimson tears stream down a mournful face,
They fall upon the paleness that is flesh,
Under this full moon, lies the corpse Crimson,
I lie in the uncut grass, with bloodied cuts lain upon my wrists,
I whisper to the air, letting it know of what I have become,
letting something know, even if nothing cares.
In the distance percieved by my mind, I hear shadows wail,
They mourn their once beloved friend,
Yet know not of what is to be mourned,
These tears fade into the softness of a fantasy,
I will never let such demons leak into my reality.
I think your last line is the best. good poem!
This heartache is very touching. And please Rain, you have friends who care about you. Though ghostly, but still caring...
A stunning poem... i Believe this is one of my favorites of Yours. Amazing job, Crimson! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Amazing poem! Really I am my mind is occupied by your romantic poetry - very soon this poet with human bark named Harindhar Reddy will use this word crimson in his poem. May be tomorrow! Can you use it. i am asking as I fear that you have patient rights exclusively to use words crimson and red... ha! ha! Only 6 and 10 but your maturity is 6 and 20. Hey I mean John Keats did the same at his age of 26..... Loud Claps to the poet! :) :) 'Crimson tears stream down a mournful face, They fall upon the paleness that is flesh, '