Burning eyes were the lure
Her barbed wire glances hooked them
And that silence, her unfathomable silence
Held them, transfixed, hopelessly trapped
In the gravity of her wounded soul.
The perpetual Emily, poor Emily, could only cry
Inadvertent creator of her own gradual undoing.
-
Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2025 07:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments1
A vivid picture painted of a soul that captured others out of pity. Lovely
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.