Hello Death. This is my Poetry.
Please read and enjoy the work of a talented writer.
I listen closely to the evening and search for the feeling in her heart. She looks back into my eyes and tries to do likewise.
“It seems you’ve changed a lot.” she fills the depth of silence.
“The beating of your heart and the batting of your eyelids tells me who I am.” I refuse to give in.
Chances are that she’d try to fill the depths some more, perhaps more desperately than before, and I might end up being buried alone under the weight of her sanity. I am not afraid of death. That’s not completely true. I am afraid of my friendship with death at times, but I ignore him in the hope for the life that her soft breathing promises.
“Always the poet.” She smiles, a tinge of red betraying her heart.
“Always, with you, my poetry.” I whisper as she steals away the rest of my fear with…
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