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Literature Text
You've robbed me...
You stole, you took, what have left in my heart.
Have no honor, and pleasantries part.
And buried me...
Neath sand, neath dirt, and earth's freezing embrace.
With your cold hands-my final resting place.
But this guilt, this fear, my abandonment.
Severed hope-lost-in my life's long decent.
You stole, you took, what have left in my heart.
Have no honor, and pleasantries part.
And buried me...
Neath sand, neath dirt, and earth's freezing embrace.
With your cold hands-my final resting place.
But this guilt, this fear, my abandonment.
Severed hope-lost-in my life's long decent.
Trying my hand with pentameter. Inspiration hit me...though I didn't quite catch it as full as I would have liked to.
© 2010 - 2024 Wayward-Man
Comments9
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It made me aware of my cold hands. 
So sad.
So sad.