Guardian

Just a poem, my first one on here. enjoy

  Alone upon the moon she sits,

 In the garden of the reaper

The roses bloom but without color and she watches them take shape

Her lips form their rememberance

Vivid enough to strike a gaze

up inside in her own world,

in which no others exist

 She writes out all the tragedies

she sings so bittersweet

black on white another line

In her field of little whispers

weeping little thoughts

 She climbs the cresant moon again

To watch the world below her feet

Despairs over the words she weaves

The world that binds them sleeps beneath

And when they look away she smiles

knowing the sins they commit

 

Reviews

[Samantha Ashley*]

Your poem is good and reminds me of my grandma looking down on me, and plus all the things I do she might not like sometimes. but Good Job!