His harsh breathing,
Is the only sound audible,
In his isolation,
In his emptiness...
This is it-
The end.
This is what he had always wanted,
And now, his last hour is slipping away.
Tears drop down his cheeks,
Black dots dance across his vision.
His pulse reduces, to nothing;
He was a flower that withered away.
~ Shami Jha
YOU ARE READING
Rhythmic Feels
Poetry•☆• A Collection Of Poems •☆• ━━━━━━ Each poem is a chapter from the poet's life, Each sentence mean so much more than what is seen by the eyes.... ━━━━━━ •☆• Rhythmic Feels •☆•
