there goes the moth
night’s sole companion
entering the circle of flames
sound of wings scorching
still echoes in the mind
not now but then
mourning begins whenever
a world comes to an end
sleepless
crouched in a cold bed
unable to write verses
in memoriam of
Jacques Derrida
1 comment:
I like your poetry.
Much the way I feel and write.
I'll look you up again
Groundhogger
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