 Solo
Life at a reckless speed,
never did hesitate to think
of that slide the consequenses.
Stop now? Too late for senses.
Blurred image of a man portrayed,
speechless soul in pain,
measure it now and pay the sentence.
Journey at a still pace,
through a narrow road that's blue;
yes, it is lonely too, cold, senseless;
It ends
Life at a reckless speed,
just a handful of memories,
It ends
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__________________ Que la poesía es vicio? Quien dijo eso? Sírvanse!
Greg Holdridge
Úlima edición por DEJAVU fecha: 25-jun-2008 a las 06:28 .
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