Look at us lying here,
Thousands of orange hues on the floor.
What more does nature want of us?
Does it somehow want some more?
I’m crippled and dry,
Nature wants so painful to be my die.
A hundred wrinkles in my veins.
And get still whipped by the reins.
I’m dead I really am.
I’m lying here without purpose.
Yet still you expect more of me?
I’m a clown in a circus.
I’m the one people are scared of,
The one they want to die.
I don’t contribute to the funness,
Let quickly be my die.
çΓυΠ¢Η
Ouch very coldish-autumnish kinda poem …
Well done 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Autumn is my favourite season x
LikeLiked by 1 person
🍩🍩☕️❤️
LikeLike
Most of the classic poets & writers loved autumn:)) u r in a good company
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s something to think about! Thank you for letting me know
LikeLiked by 1 person
No problems 😉🙃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautifully written, elegant with such a burnished autumn edge of sadness.x
LikeLiked by 1 person
The description you used to compliment it! You are so kind and lovely. Thank you 😊
Have a great week, I hope autumn is doing okay for you x
LikeLiked by 1 person