Towards The End Of The Start! Poem by Midnight Poet

The weather turns cold,
As the sky grows old...
The looming clouds were dark,
Just as inside of my heart;
Why the feeling of hate is,
All that could be felt,
But the love for the weather,
Is so wholly contained...
The wind is calm but
the soil is wet,
Like its mind is shattered
And the soul is dead;
The pink petals of rose
Were lying on the path,
accompanying me as I walk through,
It's such a pleasurable feeling to walk yourself to the grave of your own,
When you know it's the End and no one is to be blamed;
Under this grey sky I found
The doom of my own.....

Swifty..