The Living Death


The wind whispering through the willows,

the birds flying in the clear-blue sky,

The clouds like fluffy pillows,

Make me release a sigh.


All my life I’ve been holding my breath,

Buzzing around, always on the go,

Creating a living death,

With nothing for it to show.


I’d been missing so much,

Always ‘seeing’ and ‘living’

But never experiencing it as such.

Never giving it meaning.



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