He arrived on a horse
with his sword emitting flames,
and sparkles of fire burning round his skull
as he walked slowly up to me.
His body were hot,
yet his hands were cold,
with a shake that lifted my spirit.
A night to moan,
a night to shed tears,
a night to lament,
for a love one has gone cold.
My silence shall become my voice,
and my absence shall become my presence,
when I shall be found no more,
but underneath the sixth feet of the Earth.
My name shall rest on the lip of men,
For the life I lived,
and the memories of my dead.
Friends who were enemies shall appear,
dancing to the tune of instruments,
and the sprays of money over my love ones.
A journey I cannot deny,
a promise made was fulfilled
as my skin slowly turned rotten,
into clay it was made.
Alas!
in my oldness I laid,
with four eyes I cease to see,
and four legs I cease to work.
YOU ARE READING
HIDDEN THOUGHT
Poetrycries from my heart, words I wish all can hear, my worries and frustrations. who will listen?
