As my sight grew dim,
I can hear the pipes whispering from the alley.
Every night reminds me of him,
Our sleepless conversations became a tragedy.
Biding my time with my little rain cloud,
Writing what the voices say in my mind.
They're getting worse and loud,
Like a steam whistle that I cannot find.
My friends say that it was just a petty pain,
But they don't know what it feels like.
Summing up with words like a nonstop rain,
That gives tremors resulting in colliding my dike.
I can't speak, nor can't make a move,
Chances ran out due to failures and vexation.
My head is drenched by trembling fluids,
It made me live and starved from instant leads to mortification.
Launched up so high
Like an Eagle soaring up through the sky
Spreading its wings and glides above the trees
The harsh claws portray my words that shoot to kill.
I cannot enunciate that this demonstrates a change
But it is a stage of being lost and exiled
I can still make my chronology
To live for the hope of it all and make it last longer.
YOU ARE READING
The 18th Amendment (Revised Edition) (Anthology I)
PoetryTrying to reinvent himself during dire times. He found himself in a crooked path that no one leads to happiness.
