Poem -

The Dead...

The Dead...

A flaming raven with a blood thirst craving appeared through the murky clouds,
Stealing the moonlight with flickering feathers whilst the blackness of its eyes glistened,
A serenity reality breathing perfect harmony, yet the spirits of the feilds whisper from the ground,
A haunting playground where concrete became graves,
History of the dead? 
Well... 

That was a forgotten sound.

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Comments

author
Being Me

Wow! What a vivid scene your words have painted here!  Fabulous xx

Reply
author
Wayne Stubbs

Short but sweet in the sadistic kind of way haha, thank you xx 

Reply
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