Wings

Iron shapes the melted wings
and with flow it melds courage
into singularity and breaks
the weighted handle,
with the bore of endless dreams.

Such empty vasal
concubine of erogenous
poisoning... With every word
Death spewed silence
And the solitary confiment
balms, most of the wicked minds.... Not separate them...Nor give into grieving hope

For we forlorn our ways
and promises that yield
absolution, giving into
emptiness, our hands break
the motion...Perturbing the wicked....Deep within our selves....Silence stages the play

The innocence we forgot to fallow
leads the milestone.... Away into the moderation.


by nocturnus
posted on 09/11/2016

« previous | next »

Comments: 2