Looking at the children
Playing in the streets
The rotten leaves
Burnt to smoke and ash
The musky scent of vigour
Melting away in regression
Watching a corse pass by
To the funeral pyre
The dew drops
Crashing by the eye
A sweet delusion of love
Trusted,
Distrusted,
Distorted to hate
A loose chance of redemption
The razor held in hand
Watching everything pass by
As the sun would disappear
Demise would turn to nostalgia in several years.
2 comments:
*corpse
last line...so true!!
Corse as it is dear friend :)
and thank you for the read :)
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