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.


480. Hands

The hands are small and pale

But oh so far from frail

Delicately they trace

Firm words upon the page

As if the greatest race

Was to be won by age

Should I take on the task

Or sigh behind my mask

Of course responds your voice

Not giving me a choice

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