His Slow Death...

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

death afterlife, yet for the living...


Torrid anger left him there alone
Alone without them he settled to be
Be of no substance poor character made
Made in an instance positioned in the shade
Shade drawn where he couldn’t see out
Out of the dawn falling into the light
Light of the masses still kept him dark
Dark from the gases that circled his head
Head in a direction that led him astray
Astray as erections drove his psyche to play
Play the reindeer game that never ends
Ends in maim as foes deceitfully become friends
Friends reach for those that seek to be held
Held by their toes as they dangle above rails
Rails that stretched from a state to any state
State of Pandemonium remains etched on this page
Page after page ripped from rubber erasers
Erasers that gripped nations within boundaries of ink
Ink that fills puddles with lakes of despair
Despair that spills even the warmest of blood
Blood that sealed promises as paradoxes brew
Brew slowly into death, like an old fashioned stew

Submitted: June 09, 2010

© Copyright 2021 Xelence A MadMentality. All rights reserved.

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