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The gift
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [Clevian ]

2008-02-07  |     | 



My skin withers
As a fragile rose stem,
Cut off from it's body,
Chased away from the palace of life.
My human bark,
Breaks into pieces of dead flesh,
And they slide upon my bones,
As the dew-drops of the morning
Fall from the grass.
It hurts.
It hurts to survive a deadly pain.
My skin, is now carpet,
For the feet of bugs
For the nature, to lay on.
The bones begin
Their unbalanced dance
And they start to spread
All over the ground.
Skin and bones
Embrace full of love.
So I was,
And so I'm not.
The given life
Comes as a birthday present
Only it's a gift
To be taken back.





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