My Own Blood

Life is here. Did you ask why it is here?
Did you bother to know what is its real name?

Life is here. I never ask it to stay.
It stays anyway.

When it leaves, i have nothing to pack.
I leave with it. I do not leave a name.

Life has wings. Got mine too freely given.
Broken wings. Stained with my own blood.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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