Sadness and a cynical glaze
Defend against the creeping doom
The wriggling fingers of the faceless past
Pick at the scabs, scratch the scars
Left unhealed, left untended
Until the bloody words, the filthy deeds
Well to the surface
And pool in my dark eyes.
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Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: July 7th, 2025 21:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Graphic, dark, vivid, with a sense of doom this poem is descriptive of one that has seen too much. Very nicely worked metaphors and images and a fave
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