NOTHING BUT DEATH

I feel old but not wiser,
sadness is trapped in my heart
in a tattered home of a miser
who doesn't wish to share a tear
but silently watches the reality of his fear,
of flowing like a morose river,
flustered with agony
walking away
from the shore of desires,
leaving behind
a fleet of admirers
who come and who go,
some from a distance,
some drenching a bit
struggling to hold the receding ground
against the frivolous flow
but no one ever does try
to see beneath the surface,
what lies in its depth. .
may be coz the wind already told them

there's NOTHING. . BUT DEATH.