Graves that sleep,
They often weep.
Such silence abound,
With little around.
But the nightly stare,
What a deadly glare.
From the sunken eyes,
Of all the quiet cries.
Made of soft mist,
Clenched like a fist.
While iron aside it,
Only secrets can fit.
As death stood over,
The ground covered in clover.
His cloak made of musk,
Endless when come dusk.
Have you seen him yet,
I'd you breath, no I bet.
-
Author:
Thinker (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 12th, 2021 10:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 33
Offline)
Comments2
He is behind you!
Andy
is it ok if I found this a fun read?
quirky, yet with purpose, an intriguing read - especially that last line..
thanks for sharing
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