This is what is.
A thunder of violent agonies;
A clarion call tinged with the desperation of tenderness.
I stand there;
Pendulum.
I lay there;
Waves,
Ebb and flow.
I suppose this is how I die;
I only pray I close my eyes
Before insanity wears death's shroud
And deceives me.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Shade Of A Thousand Wayward Suns
PoetryWhat am I. An answer. A plea. Death's old friend, grief. Bury me In a field Of Cereus And watch me Bloom When all the world Is asleep. This is where We come to mourn; From the beginning, From the beginning, From the beginning.
