I miss my balcony view,
I was bedridden I couldn't stir
or be aware of what i was doing.
Blemished by lethargy
and persecuted by this mendacious reality,
No longer strong I'm getting weaker and weaker
every second I open my eyes or move a leg.
I'm in a boat
that can't handle my weight
so I threw my oars away
YOU ARE READING
Flowers From The Old Tree
Poetry'I open my eyes more often to see beautiful things in ugly things because nowadays no one is appreciating the beauty in the ugliness.' This collection of poems is a pile of papers that were lost and mostly ripped off, i could really relate to the...
