Fourth Death

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

You thought you're the witness, but actually you are the victim.

It's an endless path.

You were seeing it from where you stand.

There were stones around you, and whispers started to echo from behind.

You're not startled, yet you are alarmed.

The wind caressed your skin.

You closed your eyes and saw the narrowing path ahead. 

You thought it would only be three deaths.

But there was fourth.

Memories stung your senses, hence it diverted your emotions to something uncertain.

You were not afraid, but you were aware.

The bleeding touched your fear.

And there you felt the threat.

Your head was getting heavy.

Nauseous.

You started to feel the weight of the burdens you longed carried with you until you writhe in agony.

Grasping the hands of those who are ahead, they turned; waited as if expecting you to stand on your own.

Those are no scars, you realized.

Those are fresh wounds.

And they didn't heal. 

There was an old tree.

You tried to cling to it, yet why, so far?

Suppose, there was nothing but the truth, and the truth is a lie, and the lie created the truth.

Yes, you are the fourth.

The fourth among the four deaths.

 
 


Submitted: August 16, 2014

© Copyright 2022 Shie M.. All rights reserved.

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