Categories > Original > Poetry0 Reviews
its a poem about the colour black
It makes me feel sad.
When I actually think about it,
It makes me feel mad.
Black is a tale, of lost love,
To see black cats, or a mourning dove.
It's shadowy figures in the night,
And the dire feeling when your heart fels frostbite.
Black is screaming music,
with every scary lyric.
Black is also being heartless,
Always knowing your life was pointles.
Black is the memory of all the tears,
That we have shed through all the years.
Thoughts of failure, suicide, and hate,
These are all parts of our fate.
To remember all the funerals,
To remember all the annuals,
You've spent with a loved one,
Who now seems gone.
Black is the tale of Sweet Revenge,
To now who to hate and to avenge.
Black is remembering the Black Parade,
And also remembering your Last Crusade.
Black is knowing the Final Day is comming,
While everyone else is sitting there watching,
The last day, fade away right before your eyes,
Knowing you'll never again see a sunrise.
Black is knowing the end is near,
Not being able to feel nor hear.
Knowing that no one will see tomarrow,
"If parting was such sweet sorrow."
Black, like the end, is a bitter pill,
That you had to take,
Against yoiur will.