Lost and losing grip,
I cannot see my face.
My fingers bleed liquid lead;
My throat is swollen melancholy.
The winding road is broken
The cracks slip through the fallen.
The air sits upon my shoulders
Leaving me crushed and breathless.
Who has come to save me,
To save all who are left behind?
What hell awaits the living dead,
Those who walk in eternal slumber?
When the fire is sparked alive,
When it burns but never consumes,
When death makes demons of us all,
Life and angels have certainly fallen.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: July 10th, 2017 23:47
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 61
Online)
Comments2
Wow, nice work. I feel like I'm watching it unfold
Thank you for reading and commenting!
Hey there, I read this the other day and didn't comment. I can't remember why I didn't. Anyways, this is cool stuff. A fresh style and take on the feeling of being forsaken. Good stuff.
Thank you so much! I appreciate you reading it and for the feedback as well! 🙂
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.