Friday, 1 November 2013

Poetry~Renga

Season's End
The leaves fall slowly,
Crimson blood seeps out of me,
As I near the end.

I breathe in and out, it hurts.
One more in and no exhale.

The snow falls silver;
blowing in my open eyes,
I watch myself rest.

2 comments:

  1. You can really tell who's who in this poem - well, I can tell where your piece is, anyway. Maybe try for some different punctuation to make it flow a bit smoother?

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