A thought on dying

Spring has arrived in my chamber of madness

Birds are falling from the sky –

The cures which i am bound to wear is inked on my skin

The weary dries slowly on small minded features

The cry i am whispering is for the leaves of green

– to grow on my fingers and toes

I ripp out the roots, want to fly like the ravens blood

In blooming meadows i hide my shadow

 

copyright 2013 by franziska dirnberger

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