My eyes may onsorb
what you wish to conquour
But her heart beats to a different tune
She may be broken
Her soul in two
But her avenging angel comes in many forms
Not a woman and not a man, but something
Only ever dreamed by mortal men
The defender, the gut wrenching soul with
No name to its unconquored face
Night and day mixed
In blood, dont take what has not been given
For the avenging angel shall shake his walls
And taunt you down into ember.
YOU ARE READING
Oh, How Cold And Treacherous
PoetryA short poems that I hope you all like or relate to This is a picture from google.
