aberatii

Obeying the blessing of heaven and hell
I am just a shadow at the border of life
The senseless feeling is not filling the gap
Instead a bew day is coming
This hopeless move to write a poem
Is rather learning of the solitude
Why is this happening all the time?
The impossibility of choosing between life and death
For what is the rason of being here?
As soon as not I am the Author of this absurdity
Why is this poem always coming to me in the atmosphere of darkness?
Is this a good choice to write in the darkness and noise?
Maybe writing is a sense of cure for unhealthy fears?