Final Skirmish
Patient sentries
Of sober thought
Stepped aside,
Allowed me to pass,
As righteously
I thrashed toward
The battle lines--
The air in flames;
Her words seared
My weakest flank,
Truth a bullet,
Kissed its mark--
I saw the birth
Of my darkened heart;
Bunkers reinforced,
Nothing left
To negotiate,
I watched myself
Become a lie;
Winter's sickness
Numbed my veins,
My cherished icons
Ripped apart,
Welded frozen
To the ground;
When spring returned,
Melting
Blood and ice,
Only remnants
Of remorse
Could be found.
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Dark poems
Intelligence is like a river, the deeper it is the quieter it flows.
Ayon Rose Avorymoon
Community Member |
Intelligence is like a river, the deeper it is the quieter it flows.