Years will turn into months,
Those months will turn to weeks,
Then days, hours, minutes, seconds,
Until no time is left.
I wish time to stop moving,
To freeze or rewind,
So you will stay in lifes arms.
Death is calling, calling,
You don't need to answer,
Do you?
Or maybe it is your illness,
That is calling death.
Can't you muffle its sound,
So it doesn't become closer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful poetry bleak and desperate 10++