I won’t

[myself]

I won’t blame God for this

but

I’d rip the sky apart

To see your face

and

I’d join you anytime

In death


I won’t shout away my pain
Walking in the stormy rain

[bird_migration]

How to deal with the past that haunts the present and will haunt the future?
A death is like a ghost, in a way, the undecided thin line between love and hate, pain and bliss. Not knowing what will be.

You pain screams from of this poem and hits us, the reader, where it hits best; in our present.

Well done~!

[indian~summer]

beautiful :)

[deep_blue_death03]

I love the visual art this paints in my mind.