Klaus
Oh, Dad.
You already know
How Death is a
Gentle, small centipede
Curling itself on one's back
Awaiting to strike.
You taught me long ago
How on the day before Spring
There is beauty in ash
And ash in rebirth.
Throughout tides and time
A question devoured my insides.
It will remain unanswered,
Sunken in my blood.
Oh, Dad
Our memories are like a fly,
Buzzing in and out
Despite being swatted
Onto crystal glass.
page revision: 83, last edited: 18 Sep 2023 03:07