Swing the hammer
Scream of death
Slaying of the final breath
Slowly dance the macabre
Sway along the floor of blood
Slicing wires upon thy flesh
String of puppets cut of mesh
Sweeping caresses cutting deep
Speaking whispers of thy end to keep
Silently bring on the tempoed dream
Seeping tears, of joy's release
Striking over a broken heart
Scorning that which was never start
Searing to ash the one piece left
Savagely killing, mourning oneself
Scars, wounds unhealed of nightmare bliss
Stabbing deep with one open kiss
Scattered to the winds, let me be done of this
Kaloriinn, James. Mason.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Kaloriinn Mason and writers in Poets and other communities.
Wild Waves of Gold
Trembling wheat in the sun-baked winds look like wild waves of gold, skillfully swaying in the glittering day—the fields are an endless and open invitation that calls the free wanderers, the dreamers, and anyone needing a change of pace into its splendor, into its sense of comfortability, into a world separate from the concrete and gray—we may tremble with it—with the wheat spun from the blazing sun, with the carefree visions that may be out of reach for many, including ourselves. The rat race dies here and the unwavering winds bury it in soil while we dance as free as the wheat does.
By Andi Leigh7 days ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.