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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Death · #727742
The way I think I might feel when my time will come.
  The End


    Mystique tales,
    distant stars.
    The clouds
    are so near.
    My dreams
    are but a lie.
    Darkness
    on the other
    side.
    Butterflies don't
    flutter
    in my gut.
    The end of
    days,
    nothing
    in the aftermath.

Hanna © 29 July 2003
© Copyright 2003 Hanna (hanna at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/727742-THE-END