Beneath the moonlit well, memories reside,
Like sunken treasures, where emotions hide.
Each ripple reflects, a stolen embrace,
A whispered secret, etched on love's cold face.
Laughter's ghost descends, a spectral balloon,
Floating through darkness, amplifying the gloom.
I reach for its string, but grasp only air,
The echo of joy, replaced by despair.
Can these memories be released, set free from the well?
Or will they forever drown, a story untold, a love that fell?
The moon casts its light, a beacon of hope above,
Guiding me onward, to heal, and learn to love.
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About the Creator
a broken heart
I write poems to express my feelings since 2020... and now I'm going to start posting them! Love you all :)
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More stories from a broken heart and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Whiskered War
A domestic drama; rather, you're witnessing a millennium-old conflict over the fate of the entire planet (and possibly just a smA titanic struggle between wits and strength has been raging in the shadows for millennia: The Great Nibble vs. The Purrsecution. The cats, the furry fighters, the fascists of the feline world, occupy one corner. In the other, mice make up the squeaky squad, the small militia. The reward? Domination over the entire world (and possibly an especially tasty cheese wheel).
By Richard Webera day ago in Humor
Comments (2)
This was such a wonderful poem! Loved it!
The ending was very optimistic and uplifting. Loved your poem!