A Poem by h cingisiz

How many of us waste our lives, our precious time.


As we stumble through life,

Creating ways of passing time,

Becomes our major pastime,

While we complain,

That we have so little.

And then the end.

The cliff on a broken road.

Sheer, sudden, brutal.

We plummet to the sea,

Turning as we fall,

To envy the clouds,

That once held our heads,

Now clutched in our hands,

As we recall all.

As we recall nothing.

As we recall,

Our wasted mortal lifetime.

© 2012 h cingisiz

Author's Note

h cingisiz
poetry not my forte but interested in any constructive reviews :)

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register


Wow. This is amazing! You have a real talent with poetry! Don't ever stop writing! 100/100!

Posted 8 Years Ago

h cingisiz

8 Years Ago

Wow! Thank you! Words to spur me on (I've only just begun writing so your encouragement means a grea.. read more

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


1 Review
Added on December 5, 2012
Last Updated on December 5, 2012
Tags: time, pastime, death, waste, mortality, grim, dellusional


h cingisiz
h cingisiz


A British ex-pat mother living in SE Turkey with my family, working from home mainly as a graphic and website designer, but I love all things creative including writing but have only recently begun my.. more..