The Thirst of the Night
Under covers,
stones are laughing at our bad decisions.
Swallowing the pills only makes the half-dead have a shot at tasting love.
Come dance about, a human faking love,
in such a pleasant night. Make the loveless beg for their plight.
The pain of humanity, the source of love slips between the two,
whispering in their ears. Does it really matter what they say?
The night was born this way.
Traveling further and further down that path.
Deeper and deeper into despair and malnutrition;
a forbidden taste of human pain
is not enough to slake the thirst of night.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
The Dragon Became a Modern Poetaster
PoesíaPoetry is a dance of words, a guise of flesh, and a reprise of thought. The myths of old are forgotten on modern tongues. Such adventurous spirits seek new vessels - fresh words to don and call their own. We shall write them home, you and I. Let the...
