ah, the longing of the ancients
as the morn recedes to dusk I am reminded once more of the fleeting nature of life
lo and behold, for life is but wind
hark, for the wind passes by
lest the tempests of the past consume us, life, like memory, passes by
in its morbid procession, the secrets of patience lie, bewitched by timid constitution
for the curtain falls, and lo: once more I find myself alone
YOU ARE READING
sometimes
PoetryA collection of mentally ill poems about the world, written by a mentally ill person. Perfect if you're into abstract or freeform poetry. New updates come at random times, but expect slightly consistent updates at least once a week or so! Top 10 in...
