A Disrepair Soul In The Monorail Poem by nimal dunuhinga
A Disrepair Soul In The Monorail
I never count my precious breathe as I know everything has its own limits,
This breakable dishearten skeleton doesn't stand like a breakwater which face the force of waves.
Is this hidden soul disperse when you stop breathing?
* Aging; First you forget the names, then you forget the faces and you forget to pull your Zipper up, then you forget to pull your Zipper down.
-Leo Rosenburg
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4/16/2024 10:09:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Bones do grow old, but the soul lives forever. And poems can have a long life as well. Excellent write, Nimal. Always your friend at poemhunter, Sandra