When time itself cringes,Doom feels nigh,
you're hanging by the hinges,
Painted by your plaintive cry,
It's the death of a conscience,It's demise.
Nothing breaches your defenses,
You're building up fences,higher than the sky,
There's nothing you can do, you're aloof in your mind,
It's the death of a conscience,It's demise.
When life itself seems to be yearning to die,
How long will you be shrouded by your lie?
It's the death of a conscience,It's demise.
When you're cold hearted, seemingly so far that,
That you imply,
It's the life of that insect that you despise,
It's the death of a conscience,It's demise.
And in the imperceptible,
You shall find,
The true battle rages inside,
It's the death of a conscience,It's demise.
YOU ARE READING
Intrepid whims of a timid mind
PoetryThese are some of my works which I wrote unsolicited, solely for the sake of putting pen to paper, hope you find solace in their gravity, or at least find them worth your time. Bear In mind, these are just experiments, I do not claim to have any exc...
