Overgrown grasses,
Weeds and traces
A feast for maggots,
Lays down, staring into the distant nothing
Black robe that blinds its view,
Dreams of a distant star-spattered night
Something that illuminates,
Anything that emulates life
Flowers that grow unhindered,
Framing and fencing this graveyard of hope
A future that can hardly fathom,
The void of this tiny physical existence
This timeless war against time,
The hope and endless trials
To paint history with the hues of this subject,
As Earth closes in on this weary warrior
Does life only have meaning
if you can find its remnants
Long after the farewell?
Is it not okay to be content,
for all the seconds and minutes
that defined this unfinished song?
YOU ARE READING
A budding writer's collection
PoetryJust a bunch of poems written as and when I feel to write them
