A Ballad for Death

A compilation of the first 500 poems I ever wrote.
I write in my free time accross different styles and themes, sometimes there are reasons to what I write and sometimes there are not, but I always try to follow my inspiration.


415. Face

This morning when he looked

In the mirror he saw

Something that was crooked,

Something evilly raw,

It wasn’t in the stare

Nor in the small shy smile,

– He never though his style

To let it somehow scare

Him oh so profoundly –

Rather something other,

Something that brought about

Uncertainty and doubt,

Not that it did bother

For he went candidly.

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