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Rated: E · Poetry · Gothic · #1362258
A poem about the bitterness of a broken heart.
She seems to laugh

Riding through the dark woods
bare trees glistening in the light
of a cruel, cold moon;
she seems to laugh, that deceitful mistress of mine.

The air is cold, the horse old, tired,
for he has seen many winters,
and much sorrow and toil;
she seems to laugh, that deceitful mistress of mine.

In all her cold, white beauty she stands
taunting my bitter tears.
For at my broken heart
she seems to laugh, that deceitful mistress of mine.
© Copyright 2007 Tindomerel (lux_ferre at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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