The Beauty

Such a sad poem

Cynical Wordsmith

A dead man walks
By a river of blood
And his reflection appears
Full of Life.

A pale moon shines
On a young, pallid face
And the blinded can’t see
The Beauty.

A night goes by
Silent, but pensive,
And it’s deafening ears
With anticipation.

We were here, you know,
Hidden away from the world,
And you left me
Alone and hurt.

Tomorrow’s a new day,
But I won’t know it.
Tomorrow’s your new day,
And you carry my hopes.

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