Fallen dreams are all that's left,
in memories left to wander.
Voices call from deepest ground,
laid to rest, their hopes are gone.
Feelings hide beneath a sky,
Where eyes are black and hollow.
Fingers clutch the swollen lakes,
mouths can't drink the wretched waters.
What of life?...abandoned now,
lost in timeless sleep.
As if nothing ever happened,
All of love...was grim and cheap.
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Even Shakespeare hints at it in Anthony and Cleopatra when Cleo says, "I am fire and air, my other elements I give to baser life."
Always,
Deborah
I find the poem to be the personification of death. And I prefer life over such depressing thoughts.
Ron