Nothing Yet Poem by Saint Cynosure
Nothing Yet
Moments of every minute,
stealing from me time.
Tears and breath
and dreams of death,
such morbidness in mind.
Prayers confessed to pagan flesh,
as candles burn like times,
In which men dream of peace.
Thursday, December 17, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: life and death
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Rose Marie Juan-austin
17 December 2020
A perceptive write on life and death. Well expressed.
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5/3/2024 3:07:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Time is in the own pace, no stoppage it has but life runs to unknown and once it faces the death death comes to end up the time of the world life and then everything is obscure nothing yet to find out exactly all are through hypnotizing conception