Source: google.com
When the fire in the ocean
Quenches away and return ashes
As the eye of the bulb
Turn sour in the tongue of darkness
Never let it down on my toes
For I may climb to the feet of the Maker.
When the hell on earth
Oozes with flames of torment
The counterpane dressed in garment of depression
For the seasons weathered my battered womb
And lure my heart into total mischievous.
What may come to man
Like the blowing wind
That travels with parcels of air
Haunting the trees with susurrous words
And shudder man into oblivion
And later descend its groans,
That blind and deaf thoughts of man.
I won't exit the world yet
Endured with the breeze of patience
For not to be like the hunter
That shot the only bullet at the squirrel
For not to be like the prisoner
That escape rather than his release.
I won't exit the world yet
For man is born to live
Albeit, one day, man will kiss the heaven
But I won't exit the world
Like a murder
Patiently, I await the town crier
To knock at the right second.
