time goes by...
slowly it does;
it is so slow, so tedious.
time is heavy...
How low it trawls;
except it is empty, no fish in the net.
it is ambiguous...
How uncertain it is;
no beginning, no end.
it is different...
no one can tell how long it is;
it is different for man,
It is different for God.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY
PoetryAs the days come and go... the sun turns into the moon and like a withered flower i am feeling low. -so filled with the fear of going too soon. for that i fill the earth with the words from my mind so that ages from now someone may find- and forev...
