Till all is quiet, all is still,
A veil of hunger clouds the hills.
One dusty vapour, foul and fair
Doth wander 'round and choke the air--
A broken, bleeding, empty wound,
Agape and thirsty, scantily tuned.
What madness, then, hath overrun
This ghastly, wretched state of one?
No sorrow wept doth know its glee;
No bowl of tears belongs to thee.
One feeble mouse at felid's claw
Is man, consumed by reckless law.
O, heaven, mercy, take thy soul!
Let not the poisoned victual
Or vile waters sate thy tongue;
Thine earth consists of rot and dung!
Dost thou remember what they say,
'Mad morrow stalks the yesterday'?
No song, no dream, nor friend in sight;
No angel sweeps the frame at night.
What cries in torment once awakes,
Whilst nightmares haunt as silence breaks.
A nature unbeknownst to all
Shall wreck and tear until it falls.
The day shall come when anthems cease,
When all existence fails to breathe.
And none shall know their deepest will
Till all is quiet, all is still.
YOU ARE READING
Prison of Stone
Poetryʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ғʟʏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ɪ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ sᴏɴɢ. One journey from the depths of the sea to the edges of the universe. One life that takes us in a thousand different directions yet leaves us chained as we tr...
