Circadian

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The hell laced burn of mid afternoon

Submitted: November 28, 2011

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Submitted: November 28, 2011

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Circadian
A Poem By; Pestilence
 
 I've broken free from the chains, 

Rusted contraptions; impersonal expectations. 

The rusted flecks spiral down like rain upon the vermin below. Oh, How they'll never know. 
What the clouds taste like. How the raven takes flight. 
They'll never feel the caress of the sun, the chill of the moon. The 
hell laced burn of mid afternoon. 



 Estimated time of arrival was only slightly off,
They never calculated the weight of human loss. 
Three hundred graves, two hundred ninety-nine names.

 

Emancipated, from these chains, I've slain
Every single person
Who got
In 
My
Way.
 
To come out on top in this dog eat dog game.
{Life}


© Copyright 2017 Pestilence. All rights reserved.

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