Rotting Poem by Ivo Rolo
Rotting
If they told me
You were dead
And couldn't breath
I wouldn't cry
Nor sigh, but sleep instead.
Though your lips
Were the bittersweet
Font of my numbness,
You'd leave only the bitter
Taste, for my mouth to keep.
Don't think your metaphysical
Decay would make everything
Okay. I'd surely gain an ache to the heart;
However, seeing your living smile
Wouldn't simply cause pain,
But it would tear me apart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 11:44:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
