Through gashes on my paper walls
I searched for air, nowhere to be found
Could this,would this be the end?
When I haven't lived long enough,wild enough,free enough.
What a joke would that be
They say when you die. Rather, before you die your life flashes before your eyes.
Why am I not having those "flashes"?
Didn't I live long enough, wild enough, free enough?
My sight engulfed in the blackness that comes to cease the will of my deceased heart.
A shedding tear that cascades down my cheek makes it obvious that my fight is over.
But how can it be?
If I haven't lived long enough,wild enough,free enough.
Was that fair enough..?
YOU ARE READING
Roses of Sharon
PoetryHow should one begin to introduce such a collection of riddled poems? Well,read following thoughts "painted in words" are cries, ideologies that demanded to be shared. Each unique in it's own way. Some a tainted with sorrows and wonders,some...
