Saturday, March 10, 2012

As I wither...

Withering in the bleakness of Cold
Here I'll die even if I have to,
without being old.
For truth, anything;
My everything. 
Even if such chill has to pass through me
like million of needles; pricking,
I will stand still
For I wasn't born to sweep away by wind. 
And as I wither,
bring me beautiful end.
Time ! Will you?