We must die
Yet, for our words won't dry
On the blank sheet's of papers
Endlessly the poesy
Shall remain
Even in the aftermath
From all those poems
Who were given birth from a poet writer
They shall remain
When the poets breathe no more
The poems will breathe
For Eternally ....
Yet, the words will stay and remain the same
But the thoughts
Will speak to those whom read the poet's poems
So, we shall write till the end
Even if we are reborn
And don't remember who we were in the aftermaths
Therefore our words live on
So, let us the poet's writers give a gift
To the poems
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
We must die
Yet, for our words won't dry
On the blank sheet's of papers
Endlessly the poesy
Shall remain
Even in the aftermath
From all those poems
Who were given birth from a poet writer
They shall remain
When the poets breathe no more
The poems will breathe
For Eternally ....
Yet, the words will stay and remain the same
But the thoughts
Will speak to those whom read the poet's poems
So, we shall write till the end
Even if we are reborn
And don't remember who we were in the aftermaths
Therefore our words live on
So, let us the poet's writers give a gift
To the poems
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