This spring is dry

It’s cold on a summers day

The leaves are still

Although they are not here to stay,

Humanity dipped in grey dye

No streaks on this head of mine

No rainbow, dull rays

Lost brilliance

Weathered and wrinkled

Raisins and prunes

Life of the lived

Life of the used

Like the old oak tree

I bend, I am weak

You creek says the cedar floors

But you’ll have to wait.

Make no mistake

Alive but not free,

I hear too much in this silence

I can see nothing

But I smell the end,

The only sweet

Because the birds no longer sing,

Young hope has left me

Life is no longer a friend.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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