Pick a piece, there falls another,
Slowly and steadily, I wither,
Feels like this process has now gone forever.
Mould it may, me into something better,
Or perish I may into nothingness forever.
For I try to carve myself,
And try to shape into something new,
But the older carvings don't wipe at all,
Don't bend for the new ones to stand tall,
And eventually lead to a fall.
YOU ARE READING
Melencholia
PoetryAbruptly, there is a pull inside of you, that peels away all your layers and exposes the undulating terrain of your emotions. It brings out all that, that dominated you in the past ,and now is hitting you with the exact same force as it did th...
