They blend through different colors,
And at the same point
of not losing their own hue.
At certain times, fate use words
To throw her into bewilderment
And life use past
To bury him into darkness.
One must be calm.
One must flow
With the unending river
While the other has its tears. . .
. . . overflowing
Into the ocean of morbidity.
YOU ARE READING
| march and phantom.
PoetryHe is the corpse of my existential avenue, creeping towards a clandestine affair.
