Jon Doe


Growing To Die - Poem by Jon Doe

Alas was a name
All fitting too,
separated
From every sin,
knew to soon

Her death
Would come singing,
Woe is everyone
Soft like breath,
A sigh is everything

From eyes to neck,
The seen is pale,
Falling like hours,
As the clocks
Of skin grow stale

Inside myself,
In hands that crack,
As the breaking sun
Of the light
May laugh


The night will grow
As my eyes have,
And from vision of snow
She will pass,
From the past


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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 30, 2010



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