Lines Written On My Birthday Poem by Alex Grove

Oh my good friend,
Where do you go?
Where the winds will take you?
The northern breeze has already taken
your virtues and your beauty.
Your hair are getting grey
and your soul is getting darker.
Run, exile with me as long as you can.
Pack your stuff, you need to go.
The mystery of life is somewhere in your own spheres.
Let me lead you to your metamorphosis.
Follow my light embrace to a different universe,
self-consumed child.
And Dionysius will cheer us with the sweetest dews,
the King of all feasts.
We'll be his magnificent guests.
We'll lick the blood from the pestilent corpses
of the obsessed Genesis,
and still getting healed.
Here, take my golden hand to the most promising of the empires.
On Death's cruelest day.