Here it is, and again I have to go through my death Returning back from a future, the girl is a woman now And again I have metamorphosed myself Into an unexposed solitude
The woman who was a girl the previous night Beckons me, a dying star, for a moment of warmth In my death I don’t want to be part of a masked album Where, like a rose, her lips would be singing a secret music
In my world my silence and my solitude marry And she is a language replenished with sacred fire Any fire is not going to consume me, though As a meteorite I have to go through death again, tonight
About the book: This is a selection of poetry about solitude and other obsessions that have distracted, driven, destroyed and / or defined us. Spanning genres, styles, emotions, time & place, these works by a collective of 5 poets are
A descent into the abyss of hell, as the petal of a flower takes flight into the sky above, where the angels govern mortal men, keeping a watchful eye on their sheep. summer night solitude, and a prayer to the
This life has snubbed the bloom like a thick brown sac thrown on the sod. An octogenarian tries to slice the hope indulgingly to achieve immortality! Was it a virile snarl? A rose bud wrenched open in a fatherless home.
She sits there looking so cold and alone But somewhere under there, There beats a heart Beneath all the black and chrome The smooth lines that glimmer Soft but sharp in the night Are begging you to play the game
Death is truly traitorous It is highly cancerous; But dealing adventurous With animals herbivorous. Death is truly traitorous It is highly decorous With examples numerous Of behavior scabrous. Death is truly traitorous It is highly glamorous Though itself timorous As