poemQ

It is

It is a time,

Chases and creeps without any rhyme,

When everything in the world turns in a mime,

And the eyes see all of the previous crimes.

It is a heart,

Has no beat and part,

No more hunch and mind art,

And all breaths are blocked so smart.

It is just a space under the ground,

The soul left makes him down,

In the dark and loneliness with no sound,

While rotten body rejected by the town.

It is the sky,

With a door he must pass by,

And the tears drop from the cry,

But the world closes a moment to try.