Strange fruit,
Hanging from trees.
A death or a life,
What difference does it make.
I forget about my past,
A death brings it back.
I worry about life,
My facade collapsed.
What strange fruit hangs before me,
Hanging in the tree it does.
It's beckoning me forth,
With sways of a pendulum.
YOU ARE READING
Who is He?
PoetryA look inside my tattered mind. All of these are original poems written by me in various moods of my life.
