Thursday, August 28, 2014


Ding Ding
The clock bells ring.
Emptiness whispers in the trees
Standing still as restless seas.
Ashes fall from the sky
As time is passing by.
Gently lands on my frozen hand.
Ding Ding
Its ten past eleven.
In the dark I walk
I am weary and drowned
A pain still bounds
Squeezing its chains.
Ding Ding
Its twenty past eleven
Here I am at a
black and rusty gate
With squeaks and creaks,
I am welcomed
By a branch of paths
I pull my hood
Hiding my face
Ding ding
Row by row the dead lie
With Stones marking the end.
Engraved with their voices
Echo all around.
Here I am
Cold as ice
A stone comes to my eyes.
I stand and stare
At the bare ground.
No flowers, no notes of past memories.
Rather forgotten.
With it written in stone
Here lies me
Cold and alone.

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