Poetry

    I heard them,
   heard them all,
 I have seen them,
    seen them all.
 
          So cold,
  they were so cold!
 
  The rose beneath I,
  decayed as I tried,
tried to lift it for light.
 
       It was too late.
           
            Oh Fate!
You are No more to blame!
  It was me and my name.
 
       Dry it became
         in this very 
         vast frame.
 
 The color faded away
as night turned darker,
      but never day.
 
      The birds cried
over the rose, silently
    yet they echoed-
echoed to me endlessly.
 
Those hums, those voices
     were slaughterers,
   I lost what I had and
       there was blood.
 
    Blood on my hands!
    I seized that away,
         that sorrow,
           that grief.
 
      Forgive me not for
I have no mercy but anguish,
     it has embraced me.
 
         I cannot shed
      that tear anymore
    for this heart of mine
     has turned to stone.
 
-Nr.