Poetry

Before I leave 
I will give you my gift 
to perceive the human anguish. 
 
Time had passed like a snake 
noiselessly, skipping the years 
I grieved. 
 
The solace of harvesting the dreams 
was thin. 
A terrible shadow of a futile 
creation. 
 
Hopes always lied 
hollowed by anesthesia of truth. 
A surrogate womb trims 
the love. 
 
My garden was always green. 
Howling was generating the heat.