Oh, your name was my neologism
The name i wrote many times by mistake
I made a mistake but your name wasn't the mistake.
Oh, your name has the sound of the end
The color of the dead reveries
The light of the ancient dreams
It was engraved on the golden bowl which I fell
From which the water of my life poured out
YOU ARE READING
Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
