By J.L. Moore
Slumber comes to those who ask,
Darkness feeds their fatal mask.
The stony heart in her chest
Can not stand the final test.
Crushed beneath the weight of time,
Her love is guilty of a hideous crime.
Enchanted hatred sings of fear,
Making her intentions darkly clear.
Wasted words slice her tongue,
Her love for him, at last is wrung.
Dying eyes weep noxious tears,
Reaping scorn through the years.
Compelled to render her feelings mute,
Cutting them down deep beneath the root.
Drawing forth her final breath,
She dances into the arms of joyous death.
YOU ARE READING
The Life Is In The Blood
PoetryRanked #392 in Poetry 10/29/2016 Featured Story in @_Theveilednight_ Gripping Tales List Original poems, by (as my youngest son says) a 14 year old goth chick living in a 49 year old body. ATTENTION: If you are reading this story on any other platf...
