selling the past

it's so dangerous to look at death face
and put together in one chord life and resignation just to find out
that death has always been here sitting waiting to remember that everything was in vain
no faith has been real
the veins were not emptied
the heart never found another
that could beat in synchrony
the donation was not enough
loneliness won to sincerity
I'm just like an herb that survived on its own in winter
you have won, my poor lonely poet
death is not enought to put me apart
and I won't die for you

but you have tried to absorve my live
without giving anything from your own
and that is not right
I'm on a deep porch facing the bottom of the sky
tonight I'm in desert mood of selling the past
and I'm no different from others than
have felt the time went by