This red chamber ran
cold and weak, a collosal
monochromatic canvas,
it's towering walls as
hard as steel, dripped
crimson, but not enough
to wake it from this
deepest of sleeps
it's surface was corroded by
grief, emptiness,
it was a battleground of mixed
up emotions that fought
day and night each one of them
vying for dominance
cobwebs now dwelled at it's
corners, billowed down like curtains
a memento of a fallen era
where once dwelled joy
and happiness, had become
nothing but a barren wasteland
it's stagnant air wailing nothing
but pain and sadness
remnants of all those gone and lost
in the darkness
it's canyons echoing the laments
of solemn
longing for something that
could come and breathe unto it
life once more, a wind of change,
to revive it and bring it back to life
once again
YOU ARE READING
THE SAGE'S DeCLASSIFIED SURVIVAL GUIDE (FOR DUDES AND DUDETTES)
PoetryIf life is a struggle then we're a beautiful mess.
