Twilight's Blight
It asks for the answer to Fate's constant questioning. Tired yet?
My lungs are leaden. My soul weighed down with its dread.
When will you find me? When will you seek me out?
The earth is crying its own tears, I've no tears of my own to shed.
I'm empty, a hole dug deep, an empty grave.
If darkness was as pale as the moon's skin, would the frightened let it in?
If snow was as bright as moonshine, would we not fear pollution's petulance.
Run for your life, my child, you're held accountable for crimes you did not commit.
I am spoken for. I am the Twilight hour rung.
Pray tell, what's happened to you this time?
Once you were kind but now, you're wicked.
Once you were a proud tree but now, your bark's blighted.
YOU ARE READING
The Dragon Became a Modern Poetaster
PoetryPoetry 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...
