Posted in abbey, architecture, famous poets, public poetry, sharing is caring, writing with a passion



Everyday I had a dream of us holding hands;
Kissing and basking under the moon on green lands;
Wanted taking you places and get you shopping in the mall;
Always on my mind, I even had pictures of you on my wall;
For six years straight I harboured this feeling;
No soul did I tell, I had been so concealing.
I had to eject from the shelf, I had to let go my cowardice;
I had to brave up myself, to halt dancing to my imaginary melodies;
Finally, I showed up in your place and *Knock knock* on your door;
You banged the door on me after throwing my gift on the floor;
It’s exclusively crazy, cuz I tattooed your name on my left arm,
Quite messy, because I went too far, now I feel like ‘damn’.
You went as far as to shred my note and burn my flower;
It hurts gravely, it’s like throwing me down the highest tower;
You detested my presence and flew away like a sparrow;
So fast that I couldn’t even have a glimpse of your shadow;
The poems I wrote, you said they were stupid;
You shot that arrow, and now here lies my dying Cupid.

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