Poezie

The gift

1 min lectură·7 februarie 2008

Mediu

My skin withers

As a fragile rose stem,

Cut off from it\'s body,

Chased away from the palace of life.

My human bark,

Breaks into pieces of dead flesh,

And they slide upon my bones,

As the dew-drops of the morning

Fall from the grass.

It hurts.

It hurts to survive a deadly pain.

My skin, is now carpet,

For the feet of bugs

For the nature, to lay on.

The bones begin

Their unbalanced dance

And they start to spread

All over the ground.

Skin and bones

Embrace full of love.

So I was,

And so I\'m not.

The given life

Comes as a birthday present

Only it\'s a gift

To be taken back.

046.096

Vicleanu Mihaita. “The gift.” Atelier, Poezie.ro, https://poezie.ro/atelier/vicleanu-mihaita-0026790/poezie/1767109/the-gift

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