December

Winter has come. The world is dying.
The sky is bleary. The air is cold.
I try to quiet my mind to acknowledge
My place in the carnage. I'm dying, too,
And I can't think of reasons to wish
That I wasn't. Winter must happen.
Lives have to end. These are simply
The ways that things go.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2016-12-07 at 15:42

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