Retreating ever backwards from the whisper of the breeze,
Does encroach a blindness - a darkness in the trees.
Amnesiacs moan ragged underneath a setting sun,
Love's a die still spinning - work that's never done.
Nuance each way endlessly,
Into the nights long reach,
Will beg death for her lessons,
'Till she agrees to teach.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: September 30th, 2020 23:11
- Comment from author about the poem: ...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
Comments2
liked the poetic elements and flow but this got real dark - real quick, took me by surprise,
a quirky write with lots of character and although a little bleak - intriguingly insightful
Thank you. Was pretty drunk and depressed last night when i wrote this. I feel stupid, but it came out ok.
Thanks.
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