deepundergroundpoetry.com
As I wither
Withering in the bleakness of Cold
Here I'll die even if I have to,
without being old.
Cause for truth, anything;
My everything.
Even if such chill has to pass through me
like million of needles; pricking,
I will stand still
For I wasn't born to sweep away by wind.
And as I wither,
bring me beautiful end.
Time ! Will you?
Here I'll die even if I have to,
without being old.
Cause for truth, anything;
My everything.
Even if such chill has to pass through me
like million of needles; pricking,
I will stand still
For I wasn't born to sweep away by wind.
And as I wither,
bring me beautiful end.
Time ! Will you?
Published 1st Apr 2012
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Anonymous
17th Sep 2012 6:52pm
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Anonymous
- Edited 16th Sep 2018 4:45pm
17th Oct 2013 4:38pm
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