The Value Of Death

A poem i wrote for my school magazine.

I was never alone until I had met you,
then I conceived the idea of death.
You were like the wilted flowers,
whose stench sailed,
around the corners of my room.
How could I have lived,
with all those dying within me?
How could I have forgiven you,
all that you had inflicted upon me?
I did not know, neither did I feel,
the tinge of death flooding my surroundings.
Now that I look back,
I sight remains of a world unknown,
unknown to the human intellect,
I sight the dying and the dead.
Do not consider me as a living creature,
for I am dead from within.
My eyes do not speak a word of life,
my hands do not put up an act,
my lips do not kiss the heavenly moments,
which left me something of a light.
A light to seek worlds,
but I had lost everything in this battle,
and I had given up without a cause,
for I knew my life would be my doom,
and death would be my gauze.