Growing grey

Every gift I make is a new scar,

that’s what I’m able to give,

regardless of near, regardless of far,

regardless of where you live.

 

My mind goes back to earlier times,

when I was younger and all but sage,

when I gifted you the loveliest rhymes,

when every new day was a new page.

 

But now, alas, as time has gone,

only fear and anger are in my breath,

and I feel alive only being alone,

for lovely feelings and Love I’m Death.