It's time
to leave, for the departing stand too close
the tick of the clock grows louder, heavier
echoing within empty walls
calling, waiting
with each trickling second
running away is getting too hard
as the phantoms of sinned knights draw in
she knows
acceptance brewing in the midst of waging wars
it is only but ephemeral
for the crier's plight eventually stops
even with blood trinkling and staining
hands of agony
will ebb into the numbing haze,
into new found freedom and hypocrite comfort
even with a facade home and the shadows
covering the past, forgiving
it won't be real
not at all
YOU ARE READING
Cadaver
PoetryAs the colors ebb away, the unfeeling flinches, at the mercy of the dead #1 in poem [20/9/23] #2 in darkpoem [27/9/23]
