The Withered Rose

  The Withered Rose

In my hand is the most colorful:
Magenta, pink, yellow, golden, brown, and
Many other unnamed
Out of this once scarlet body

All the colors
Now are weaving together
Upon the calling of Death: a journey
Is not simplified by Simplicity. 

I put her down on the ground. 
No vases (my hand is simply another one) can be open enough
To hold her beauty and something called
Life and Death.

    07/17/2006

 

 

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所有跟帖： 

• 厉害，影云很多年前就开始写英文诗了。。。好像风格一直比较沉郁。 -尘凡无忧- ♀ (0 bytes) () 08/27/2022 postreply 14:36:11

• 对，我喜欢写，那时。死亡一直吸引着我，从童年开始。 -影云- ♀ (0 bytes) () 08/27/2022 postreply 15:12:44

• 你真是个特殊的儿童! -lovecat08- ♀ (0 bytes) () 08/27/2022 postreply 15:36:11

• 如果云知道， -ling_yin_shi- ♂ (59 bytes) () 08/27/2022 postreply 16:59:32