Rain turned to ice,and lightning splintered, it splicedthe black sky, it seeped a bright white.All animals they fled,from the sky as it bled,pale death that fell veiling the night.
Poetry can take you places that were once only traveled by your imagination.
Rare Images of Love
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Poetry can take you places that were once only traveled by your imagination.
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Wrath crawled out from the well,on direction from Hell,to get back what it once lost.With vengeance in mind,it set out to find,a specified soul to accost.When the Hell-well beckoned,Mother__ will now reckoned,her dead soul now wholly enslaved.Embodied in a rotting husk,the corpse reeked of putrid musk,her being wholly depraved.
If on thoughts of death we are fed,Thus, a coffin, became my bed.
When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
& love is an evil word. Turn it backwards/see, see what I mean? An evol word.
To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge