a dying thing
The cold wind caress something lying still in the grass, desertedDead eyes with a glass-like surface express the painful void of a soul that was never nurtured
Lying in the grass, is a dying thing
Moonlight smoothly watch something lying still in the forest glen, sacrificed
Weak limbs express the numb, vain attempts of a crippled soul that never sufficed
Lying in the woods, is a dying thing
The curious tidal hands of the sea finds something lying on the shore, forlorn
A wounded and burst chest express the dreams and hope that was ripped and torn
Lying on the shore, is a dying thing
Faint whispers echo through the shades, something is nearing
Lurking in the dark, is a living thing
Poetry by Rex Panthera
Read 457 times
Written on 2007-02-02 at 12:29
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