Ever daunting,more eccentric is what is left of me
There is no goodness left in me to see.
The roads have become patchy
Quite rough and vague
Because there is no good left for any risks to take.
No happiness,no wonders, no zeal along
There is only tenpramental aloofness which is meant to be wrong
The place has become cold
There is no heart for any feelings to hold
The place once blossomed with dalias and dashes
But there is no love left at which one gazes
No signs for existence
No signs for any persistence.
You can't follow your dreams here
Because there is nothing left but ghostly screams of fear
The place is unhabited,a never opened gift
Which once was meant for the love to lift.
No memories,no softness is left around,
There is this boundless sky and a beligerant ground.
Categories:
unhabited, absence, age, creation, life,
Form: Rhyme