Spin the hilt and point the blade
Call me, dreaming, over the waves
"Yes, through swamps and mud you'll wade
But think about the lives you'll—
I see
corpses pile
turn molehills to mountains.
then winter comes.
your eyes numb.
blood.
red wine.
keeping it is a luxury
and your heart breaks every time
you see it spilt.
then winter comes.
your heart numbs.
souls are lost
in the trudging of boots
the savage beating of the ground.
then winter comes
your soul numbs
i'm cold.
i'm freezing.
i'm—
YOU ARE READING
Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
