just being lost within these rooms.
I am imprisoned by this city and these walls
by this darkness and these cold streets where I see no face
but the shadows of the wanderers.
I have been taking away
by this winter and these shallow rivers
where I throw my hope deep inside
but nothing changes here in this exile.
I have witnessed enough of this desperation, this lost cause
where I seek no more and nothing less just reaching to a shore
where everything fades and nothing more
I walk through each street among this coffin, painting
everything in grey as it is.
I am a writer of a forgotten elegy, a remaining sorrow
where there is no such thing as peace
that has been brought into life
before this, and all the darkened light.
I am nowhere close a place that I feel a warm hand
on my face saying, it is alright son
but all the seasons are the same...cold.
everything fades here as my home, falls into pieces
nothing stays here as my past there, stays the same
this life leads astray as days passing by.
I know that I'm gone but my flesh will rot somewhere
not so far, and forevermore...
© Thymournia, 2012