I desire justice.
I desire mortally.
I desire freedom.
One thousand years of sleep in the grave
Still chills fill the blood, and it freezes the soul
Tears come no more down from those hollow eyes
The scattered mirrors will mock and scream of sins long past
The illness spreads from head to toes
Crumbling of all that was left of the body
Why am I not dead?
Why am I not dead?
Shadows will feeds on the unwitting and dull
They will swallow them whole
The first words I say to are the last words I say to you.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the Tides
PoetryA series of poems with different meanings and moods. They are all here and have been here a good time from the tides of my mind. I give you some entries of earnest tidings.
