At Ease
Most wounds can time repair
But some are mortal these
For a broken heart there is no balm
At ease but cold as stone
Though the intellect spin on
Nought of the life that is gone
But smiles as by habit taught
And sighs as by custom led
And the soul within is safe from damnation
Since it is dead
YOU ARE READING
LIFE HURTS MORE THEN DYING
Poetrydont really know what im still doing here but i wanted to post my favorite poems
