The hope of being me

It is a hard thing
Being me
Whatever this means
On this planet
This lonely place
In the outskirts
Of  the universe
The days are passing
So slowly
The shadows growing by the day
Withering stages of decay
Around me
The birds starts singing
And the spring breaks in.


I am who I was when I wrote this text but I do not know if I exist now. I am from Scandinavia where the arctic starts and the world ends. The winter is here and is so cold...

Tagged with: , , , ,
Posted in #blogg100, metamorphosis, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: