Leftover mold,
Has no growth and turns to rust.
Left over mold,
Becomes just dust.
Leftover mold,
Has no growth and turns to rust.
Left over mold,
Becomes just dust.
Few...
Wont find themselves,
By sitting with old emotions.
Revisited from long passed childhoods,
They can't leave behind.
Few...
Devoted,
To how things used to be...
Wont allow themselves to step away,
From mental decay and aging debris.
Dust collects on unused minds to rust.
Until leftover mold shows,
No growth...
To notice.
Or moves to make by those too old.
And staying to remain unchanged,
Wont stop...
That clock from ticking.
Remaining to stay the same,
Just wont stop...
That clock.
Leftover mold,
Ages in stages.
Leftover mold takes what's too old,
And goes...
To fade away.
Leftover mold becomes just rust,
To dust...
Unnoticed.
Leftover mold is useless to discuss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem