“Dying to live”
I am dying to live.
But the time is dead.
Every patio is a grave.
But I need to amalgamate.
I am standing unaided,
And the doors are all bunged,
But no one can heed the twinge ,
That the breeze carries within its silence.
Its all is the same,
And we all are then sling
In the decades and the rain.
The drop as it thrust,
In the course of the gardens of the tea shops,
It die out at the stairs who discern if there is any more.
Life and the death,
Is the legitimacy in our hands.
Why do I think of ecstasy and hell.