Wastelands Poem by Agatha Eliza

You laid at my feet wistful memory traces,
as rusty and worn out like the century that has gone by
I've left behind the thought, the hopes,
of building something when blackness overwhelmed my eye.

shards of my reflection press the wastelands,
and lifting my bones, I pluck white flowers of asphodel
on the plains of your desolating eternity,
while waiting for my ashes to rise to heaven astraight.

you dispersed from my hair the crown you made
which relieved the forlorn cold stone that lies ahead,
because when I drank the water of the Lethe
I forgot everything that has ever linked us as mortals.