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.


414. Saint John's

It’s on the tip of my tongue,

It’s at the edge of my breath,

It is the truth to my lie,

The feeling I keep in check;

Breathing cool on my neck,

In the corner of my eye,

Oh it is my drug, my meth,

I wonder, “what if I sung?”;

It is true, I am still young,

Barely know alpha from beth,

But I feel it in the sky :

Strange, irresistible beck,

I can barely keep in check

Screaming at me to just try

But I fear this form of death,

The bells have yet to be wrung.

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