One breath speaks farewell.
The other sings a mellow tune.
The third hurls words in a cry.
The last throws an exotic play.
All conjoined to a depressing day;
The death of a single player.
One dances as if on fire,
The other shakes and weeps in fear,
The third stands apart with a bundle of buds in her arms,
And the last watches with a sickening glare,
All in September.
May we see the dead again in another day.
Alas, dear friend.
The player of your own life.
As all stand high for what you passed in September.
Few feet under with the beat of thunderous rain,
All never felt so estrange with you.
In the life you once lived,
Which ended in September.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"The universe kissed the stars, who birthed a galaxy of new beginnings." The only way to express beautiful and cynical thoughts is through the delightful invention of simple, and yet complex, poetry. My poems never end, have no defined theme and st...
