Burns
228 1006
21 sept 2016, 16:45

Weapon 

  Poesía » Otra
1287 1 3
And all the wars
those eyes of yours
have started,
and all the gore
blown open in the hearts
like grotesque gardens,
by beauty, battle-hardened,
Yes, all of this is lost to words;
none ever cross
the lips of worlds
exhaling in the fallout
following the meltdown.

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