The Immortal man
He strolls dark paths
He knows the way
He always have dates
Every minute
Every second
All days
No rest
For the just man
His hand, soft
Soulless bones
His name is death
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the heartless and heartbroken
PoetryMy poetry dwells in the infinite sadness of the broken and the heartless.
Death
The Immortal man
He strolls dark paths
He knows the way
He always have dates
Every minute
Every second
All days
No rest
For the just man
His hand, soft
Soulless bones
His name is death
