by Laura Salmon
The rain drizzles gently down onto your head
washes out those desperate wishes that you were dead
Love’s hate worms its way through your poor heart wrenched soul
and takes it’s aim and touches it’s goal.
Your forbidden fruit tree lies in your brain
spinning a web of deceit all over again
and in the dreary mornings the vultures hum
you know you will be dead by the time that they come.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
I have been a keen writer and reader of poetry for the last 8 years., I grew up in North Lincolnshire with my family., I am now 21 and in the final semester of my undergrad degree., I have had several pieces published in the past., My poetry is often concerned with the many aspects of the human conditon, and world and political situations such as the war., Aside from my degree and poetry I am a horserider and I compete regularly with my horse Jayde!
Last updated May 15, 2011