Some of us must have
Blood on our hands
For the redness to
Bloom innocently
Upon other cheeks
Love is born out of the debris
Of wounds
Borne by strangers
Flowers bloom
In ruins
Beauty rises
Among desolate things
Shall we lay waste then
To the worlds we've built
And risk destruction
At the prospect of love?
2 comments:
Beautiful lyric, leaves the reader with a wonderful thought to ponder upon. Thank you for sharing Deesh,
-
Priyanka.
Thank you, Priyanka :-)
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