A poem-If you can call it
Staring past the darkness
When I saw nothingness
Your faint voice reminded me
Of the days of feeble memories
As if colliding,yet stagnant.
Every strain of thought that goes past
Every memory is invaded-disguised
By the unholy mirth of the yore
I remember your stained glory
The dark light of fame falling on you
You basking under the cold sun
While flowers like serpents sting
And all the while I see my fall
Standing beside your rise in hell......