Each still serrated edge
tearing through the whispers
lingering over the ledge
like deeply cutting words
Bleeding out our pandemonium
as we echo terrors far
Standing at this podium
confessing who we truly are
They are the blades we bought
when we believed in better things
and now when hearts are caught
They are the very death they bring
Sparingly at first did we
dare to prune and trim
until we pushed a little more
and dug the knife right in
(October 23rd, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
