Death Poem by Rohit singh
Death
Whatever exists,
Sits on the throne of imperfection.
Death is not the end,
It’s just the transformation,
Of imperfection into perfection.
While every breath,
I wait for death.
I can’t be imperfect anymore.
Just want to cross that door.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death,perfection
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5/6/2024 9:19:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
