My honour withers,
In autumn of your insincerities,
and my colours vanish,
In fates of your desertion,
I get volatile,
In blaze of your,
changing faiths,
and my marrow,
Pains in flames of your deceitful moves,
I get worn-out,
In weathers,
and my grey lead heart,
Is dormant and heavy.
To breathe.
Sahar Sahar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-102/
