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Death Withered rose, Dry, Wilted, Buried in the snow. Withered body, White Cold, Buried in the ground. Withered mind, Blank, Zero, Buried in reminiscence The silence roars over the black depths of the empty soul, causing a painful death before life creeps out and vanishes. The cold whiteness of the lifeless body is what’s left of the faded soul that was once there. A mark by the grave remembers that for us. It remembers what is forgotten by the future, which leaves behind a story of solitude. The past is covered with wet moss. It never will be lifted. I was asked to read this at the poetry festival at my school. :-) Go back to my page of art and poetry or the main page |