Sunday 1 June 2008

The Poem of Death

Perhaps it is words, perhaps it is just me
Sitting strangely alone, haunted by eternity

In a moments thought, fear banishes integrity
Such hope thus I lack, such dear lives of humanity

And yet days drag slowly by, and my moment is dragged into a years territory
So much so, I become nothing, nothing more than a living memory.

© Quratul Ayn 2008