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.

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About

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...

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Posted in #blogg100, metamorphosis, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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