No matter how sweet Death talks,
No matter how many times
it rolls its cold tongue
against the hopeless mind,
No matter how hard
it tries to deceive
the gun-gripping hands,
The lungs will remain faithful
loving the air.
YOU ARE READING
Unlit
PoetrySometimes I just get tired looking for my stolen matches, and so these places remain unlit. Copyright 2015 by CielloMaxin Highest ranking: #25 in Poetry 12/06/2016 DISCLAIMER: I do not own the photos I use for the covers of my books. All credits b...
