Poetry - Bleeding Heart by Summer
genre
description:
He's poems I've randomly written. They most likely don't have anyting to do with eachother but if they do I'll let you know. Thanks for reading! And when you comment, can you please specify which poem your commenting on. Thank you!
chapters
chapter 1:
Bleeding Heart
chapter 2:
the Old Bones Speak
chapter 3:
Creating Willow
chapter 4:
Paper Stars
chapter 5:
Slipping Clouds
Bleeding Heart
chapter 1
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updated Nov 07, 2009
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1249 characters
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0 people liked this writing
He looked upon his hands,
Once pale like snow,
Glimmered like giant red jems,
In their fists made of skin and bone.
He leaned down,
Picked up the shards of clear,
Sharp edged glass,
and threw them at the wall.
Once a little dove,
Now a million little pieces,
Crushed in flesh,
Covered in the same bright red.
The shimmer down the ally way,
A sparkling asphault rode,
And tomorrow it will lead,
The police the the man curled in the corner.
All he wanted was some sleep,
His sole possesion a crying bird,
Twinkling of cut glass,
Killed him last night they say.
The person responsible had come upon him by suprise,
Saw the twinkle of wealth,
Held to man's chest in his sleep,
And tried to pull it away.
But the man knew that night would be his last,
So he held fast to the bird,
And held it crushed in his hands,
And watched as the assailant broke it to bits.
He winced and waited till he left,
There was no where to go,
So he bled until he lay,
Sleeping forever more, dead.
But the little dove,
In the morning light,
Gathered itself up,
Shards pulled now into one whole.
Some say to see it now and then,
White as cristal,
Bleeding heart as red as true blood,
Perched upon a trash bin.
back to top
Once pale like snow,
Glimmered like giant red jems,
In their fists made of skin and bone.
He leaned down,
Picked up the shards of clear,
Sharp edged glass,
and threw them at the wall.
Once a little dove,
Now a million little pieces,
Crushed in flesh,
Covered in the same bright red.
The shimmer down the ally way,
A sparkling asphault rode,
And tomorrow it will lead,
The police the the man curled in the corner.
All he wanted was some sleep,
His sole possesion a crying bird,
Twinkling of cut glass,
Killed him last night they say.
The person responsible had come upon him by suprise,
Saw the twinkle of wealth,
Held to man's chest in his sleep,
And tried to pull it away.
But the man knew that night would be his last,
So he held fast to the bird,
And held it crushed in his hands,
And watched as the assailant broke it to bits.
He winced and waited till he left,
There was no where to go,
So he bled until he lay,
Sleeping forever more, dead.
But the little dove,
In the morning light,
Gathered itself up,
Shards pulled now into one whole.
Some say to see it now and then,
White as cristal,
Bleeding heart as red as true blood,
Perched upon a trash bin.
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