In the land of dead
All the poets write dead poems
On obituaries and dreams
Without graves and shrouds, and
Death becomes just another face of life.
Far away from my land
I still try to smell the dead,
In my dead poems, through
The faces I see and images I grow up with
And all you can do is: read,
Read these lines, without knowing
I am bleeding!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Dead Poem!
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1 comment:
Thank you for stopping by. Hope you enjoy it and come visit again. I love poetry, so I have already read the first few on your site, very nice indeed. I will be back. The Mermaid
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